THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


S.  Wales  Coast,  S.E.  Section 


^7*—^ 

SOUT^  WALES  COAST  / 


«  § 

W  C 

I  w 

o  t: 

u  c2 


The  South 
Coast 

From  Chepstow  to  *Aberystwyth 
By  Srnest 


Illustrated 


New    York 

Frederick    A.    Stokes    Company 
Publishers 

7077 


(All  rights  reserved.) 


730 


PREAMBLE 

THE  long  range  of  coast  here  described,  from  the 
Wye  half-way  across  Cardigan  Bay,  bordering 
the  land  of  a  hundred  castles,  offers  one  of  the 
best  holiday  regions  in  all  Britain.  But  the 
country  has  far  too  much  individuality  to  be 
treated  only  in  the  light  of  another  summer  and 
autumn  resort — a  wilder  extent  that  is  being 
tamed  to  the  lure  of  the  golfer  and  the  motorist. 
So  the  following  pages  have  been  made  trans- 
parent wherever  the  chance  came  to  the  real 
lineaments  and  Welsh  differences  of  each  par- 
ticular bit  of  country,  and  nothing  has  been  held 
too  trivial  that  serves  to  start  its  memory  or 
spirit  of  place.  For  the  itinerant,  recounting  his 
steps,  often  finds  it  was  a  sand-filled  railway  arch, 
a  tramp  or  cockle-picker,  a  broken  wall  or  old 
salt-house,  quite  as  much  as  any  castle  of  romance 
or  lion  of  the  guide-books,  that  knitted  up  the 
associations  of  a  scene,  and  gave  it  the  salient 
touch. 

On  a  last  journey  to  Caerleon,  where  I  was 
bound  thinking  mainly  of  the  Roman  city  of 
Legions  and  Arthur's  "  Round  Table,"  the  decisive 
incident  proved  to  be  the  overtaking  on  the  road 
of  an  unlucky  house-carpenter  who  had  been 
"fired"  from  Newport  workhouse  that  morning, 
and  who  drove  King  Arthur  clean  out  of  the 

518789 

LIBRAET 


6  PREAMBLE 

picture.  On  the  Welsh  roads  the  realities  are 
for  ever  overtaking  romance  in  this  way,  and 
you  have,  if  you  are  a  sentimental  traveller,  to 
be  forewarned  of  them,  and  to  be  prepared  for 
the  cloud  of  smoke  that  hangs  in  the  mining 
valleys,  and  for  slums  on  a  mountain-side  where 
you  expected  a  castle.  Even  the  great  change 
which  is  now  passing  over  Gwent  and  Glamorgan, 
and  which  has  needlessly  ruined  by  sheer  neglect 
(not  of  art  but  of  science)  the  look  and  finer 
human  ordering  of  whole  regions,  has  led  to  the 
magnificence  of  the  Titanic  docks  and  their  ocean- 
ships,  and  the  beginning  of  great  Welsh  seaport 
and  city  architecture.  You  need  not  care  only 
for  the  past,  or  be  an  archseologue  or  romancer, 
to  enjoy  this  land  of  Merlin  and  the  Tylwyth 
Teg,  and  once  you  have  come  under  its  "cyfaredd," 
as  the  poets  say,  you  will  get  to  like  it  better  and 
better  every  year  you  return  to  it. 

Before  he  turns  the  leaf  the  writer  ought  to 
acknowledge  very  gratefully  the  unselfish  aid  he 
has  had  from  various  people,  including  his  fellow- 
travellers.  In  especial  his  thanks  are  due  to 
Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas — artist,  naturalist,  and  Welsh 
"Herald" — for  the  loan  of  invaluable  original 
drawings  for  reproduction,  and  for  the  account 
of  the  Isle  of  Birds,  Grassholm  (the  "  G wales 
in  Penvro"  of  the  Mabinogion,  never,  I  believe, 
before  described).  Also  to  "G.  R."  for  her  con- 
tributions to  the  chapters  on  Kenfig,  Margam, 
and  St.  Davids ;  to  Mr.  John  Ballinger  of  the 
National  Library  of  Wales,  Mr.  Walter  Spurrell, 
and  Professor  J.  M.  Lewis  for  the  loan  of 
photographs ;  while  I  owe  to  my  uncle,  Mr. 
Percy  Percival  of  Berrow  Manor,  the  account  in 
the  Milford  chapter  of  the  birds  on  Skomar 


PREAMBLE  7 

Island.  To  name  in  full  all  the  writers,  live  and 
dead,  whose  works  have  been  quoted,  from  Gerald 
the  Welshman  to  Sir  John  Rhys,  would  require 
another  page :  but  I  must  not  forget  the  claims 
of  Archceologia  Cambrensis,  the  bible  and  the 
encyclopaedia  of  the  Welsh  antiquary,  without 
which  the  labours  of  most  of  us  would  be  vain. 
The  ensuing  chapters,  it  is  well  to  add,  are  based 
upon  a  very  long  acquaintance  with  the  country, 
and  upon  almost  as  many  journeys  as  they 
number ;  and  in  the  sentimental  retrospect  the 
old  landmarks  and  the  new  may  at  times  seem 
confused,  or  an  English  mile  be  turned  into  a 
Welsh  one.  But  the  book  is  not  a  gazetteer,  and 
it  purposely  omits  much  that  can  be  had  in  every 
guide-book.  The  best  check  upon  its  record  in 
the  matter  of  distances,  coast-roads  and  the  like, 
is  a  good  chart ;  and  overleaf  will  be  found  a  list 
of  maps  in  the  Ordnance  Survey  covering  the  five 
Welsh  shires  whose  sea-board  figures  in  its  pages. 


LIST  OF  SMALL-SCALE  ORDNANCE 
SURVEY  MAPS 

ONE  mile  to  one  inch,  published  in  outline  or 
coloured  (flat  or  folded) :  Nos.  163,  177,  178,  192, 
193,  194,  209,  210,  227,  228,  229,  244,  245,  246,  247, 
248,  249,  250,  261,  262,  263.  Prices  Is.,  Is.  6d.,  and  2s. 

A  series  of  maps  on  the  same  scale,  but  covering 
larger  areas:  Nos,  69,  78,  89,  100,  101,  102,  103,  104, 
110,  111.  Coloured  edition  only  (flat  or  folded). 
Prices  Is.  6d.,  2s.,  and  2s.  6d.  Some  are  published 
and  some  are  in  course  of  preparation. 

Two  miles  to  one  inch :  Nos.  15,  20,  21,  26,  27,  32. 
Coloured  edition  (flat  or  folded).  Prices  Is.  6d., 
2s.,  and  2s.  6d.  Also  published  on  the  Layer 
System  by  which  different  altitudes  are  more 
clearly  indicated  by  flat  colouring  of  various 
shades. 

Four  miles  to  one  inch  :  Nos.  13, 14, 18.  Coloured 
edition  (flat  or  folded).  Prices  Is.  6d.,  2s.,  and  2s.  6d. 
Also  published  in  uncoloured  flat  sheets.  Price  Is.  6d. 

Four  miles  to  one  inch  :  County  Maps.  Cardi- 
ganshire, Pembrokeshire,  Carmarthenshire,  Gla- 
morganshire, Monmouthshire  (flat  or  folded).  Price 
Is.  each. 

Ten  miles  to  one  inch  :  No.  9.  Coloured  (flat  or 
folded).  Prices  Is.,  Is.  6d.,  and  2s.  Uncoloured 
(flat  sheets  only).  Price  Is. 

Mr.  T.  Fisher  Unwin,  Adelphi  Terrace,  London, 
W.C.,  is  the  sole  wholesale  agent  for  all  the  above- 
mentioned  maps,  which  can  be  obtained  through 
any  bookseller. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  CHEPSTOW  AND   THE   WYE  .  .  .13 

II.  THE    "  OLD    SEVERN    CROSSING,"     PORTSKEWETT 

AND   WENTWOOD       .... 

HI.  NEWPORT  ..... 

IV.  OAERLEON-ON-USK        .  . 

V.  FROM   THE   USE   TO   THE    TAFF 

VI .  OLD   AND   NEW   CARDIFF  .  „  . 

VII.  THE   VALE   OF   GLAMORGAN 

VIII.  PENARTH,    SULLY  AND    THE   HOLMS      . 

IX.  BARRY   ISLAND   TO   ABERTHAW 

X.  LLANTWIT   MAJOR   TO   ST.    DONAT'S       .  . 

XI.  DUNBAVEN   TO   CANDLESTON 

XII.  NEWTON   NOTTAGE    TO   KENFIG 

XIII.  MARGAM    . 

XIV.  NEATH    AND    THE    VALE   OF   NEATH    .  . 

XV.  SWANSEA   .  ,  .  .  .  * 

XVI.  LUNDY   ISLAND  , 

XVII.  THE   EAST   GOWBB   COAST 

XVIII.  THE   WEST   AND   NORTH   GOWEB   COAST 

XIX.  BURRY   INLET  AND   CARMARTHEN    BAY 

I 


10  CONTENTS 

OHAPTB*  PAOB 

XX.  LLANBLLY   TO   KIDWELLY  .  .  .   214 

XXI.  LLANSTEPHAN   AND   FEERYSIDB  .  .  219 

XXII.  CAEMAETHEN        .  .  -,  .  .    228 

XXIII.  EHYD-Y-GOES,   LAUGHAENE   AND   PENDINE     .  241 

XXIV.  TENBY      .  .  .  .  .    250 

XXV.  MANOEBIEE,         GEEALD          THE         WELSHMAN'S 

COUNTEY  .  .  .  .  .  267 

XXVI.  PEMBEOKE   CASTLE  .  .  .  .   276 

XXVII.  THE   BOSHEESTON   EOAD  I     ST.   GOVAN'S    TO    THE 

STACK   EOCKS          ....  287 

XXVIII.      MILFOED   AND   THE   HAVEN  .  .  .    297 

XXIX.       SOLVA  AND    ST.    DAVID' S          .  .  .  302 

XXX.        EAMSEY  AND   GEASSHOLM  .  .  .    316 

XXXI.       THE      NOETH      PEMBEOKE     COAST  :      FISHGUAED, 

NEWPOET,   ETC.       ....  329 

XXXII.  CAEDIGAN       .....  342 

XXXIII.  THE  CAEDIGAN  COAST      .       .       .  350 

XXXIV.  ABEBYSTWYTH   .....  363 
XXXV.  '  LLANBADAEN  TO  BOETH    .       .       .  373 

INDEX   ...  .  383 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

OLD  SALT  HOUSE  :  POET  EYNON  .  .  Frontispiece 

From  a  Water  Colour  by  Mr.T.  H.  Thomas 

FACING  PAGE 

TOWN   GATE,    CHEPSTOW        ''.4.-.  .;  .  .  16 

Drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas 

TINTEEN   ABBEY     .  .  .  .  .  .22 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck,  Newport,  Mon. 
CALDECOT   CASTLE        .....  29 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck 
NEWPORT   CASTLE    (LOW   TIDE)       .  .  .  .34 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck 
ST.   WOOLOS'S   CHUECH  ....  44 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck 
AT   CAEDIFF   DOCKS  .  .  .  .  .68 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck 
"  AN   UNCONSCIOUS  FOLK-LOEIST  "  :    VALE  OF  GLAMORGAN      80 

From  a  Drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas 

LLANTWIT  MAJOR:  THE  COLUMBARIUM          .  .         105 

From  a  Drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas 

ST.  DONAT'S  CASTLE         .  .  .  .  .112 

Drawing  by  Gastineau 

NEATH:  THE  OLD  CHURCH    .  .  .  .149 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck 

OLD  SWANSEA:  THE  CASTLE  AND  HARBOUR      .  .  .  163 

From  a  Drawing  by  W.  Turner 

THE   MUMBLES   HEAD  .  .  .  •;  ,-  183 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck 

OY8TERMOUTH  CASTLE  .  .  .  ,  .  .  188 

Photo  by  Williams  &  Curnuck  PAGE 

THE  MALEVOLENT  DRAGON  IN  PENNARD  CHURCH  »  191 
From  a  Sketch  by  E.  B. 

OLD  OY8TERSHELL   LAMP  :    GOWER   COAST  ;•;  »•:  .    205 

11 


12  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

CAEBOENNIN   CASTLE,    CARMABTHENSHIRE  .  .    210 

Drawing  by  Gastineau 
LLANBTEPHAN   CASTLE  :    FROM   THE    BANDS       .  .  224 

Drawing  by  Gastineau 
OLD   CARMARTHEN  .....    232 

Print  by  Buck  (1740) 
LAUGHARNE    CASTLE    .....  248 

Drawing  by  Gastineau 
SKOMAR   ISLAND     ......    298 

From  a  Drawing  by  Mr,  T.  H.  Thomas 
SOLVA 302 

Photo  by  Mr.  Walter  Spurrell,  <7J?.,  Carmarthen 
FORTH   CLEIS  ......    308 

Photo  by  Mr.  Walter  Spurrell,  J.P. 
OFF   RAMSEY  ISLAND  -T  318 

From  a  Drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas 
SEABIRDS   AT   GRASSHOLM   ISLAND  .  .  .    325 

From  a  Drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas 

PENTRE   IVAN   CROMLECH         k.  .  .  .  331 

Photo  by  Prof.  J.  Morgan  Lewis 

THE   CASTLE,   NEWPORT,   PEMBROKESHIRE  .  .    335 

Photo  by  Prof.  J.  Morgan  Lewis 

LLECH-Y-DRYBEDD   CROMLECH  .  .  .  335 

Photo  by  Prof.  J.  Morgan  Lewis 
CORACLES   ON   THE   TEIVY  ....    345 

Photo  by  Prof.  J.  Morgan  Lewis 

CARDIGAN   BRIDGE        .....  345 

From  an  old  Painting 

DANIEL   ROWLANDS,   LLANGEITHO  .  .  .    352 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall,  Aberystwyth 

SAND   DUNES   ON   THE   COAST  ....  355 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall 

MONK'S  CAVE,  CARDIGAN  COAST  ....  360 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall 

A   STORM   AT   ABERY8TWITH  :   THE   ESPLANADE  .  364 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall 

THE   DEVIL'S   BRIDGE   RAILWAY     .  .  ,  374 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall 

OLD   SALTS    AT   BORTH  ...  378 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall 
CANTBEV-Y-GWAELOD  :    A   DROWNED   FOREST  .  379 

Photo  by  W.  B.  Hall 


The  South  Wales  Coast 

CHAPTER    I 

OHBP8TOW  AND   THE  WYE 

IT  was  market-day  when  we  got  to  Chepstow,  and 
droves  of  sheep  and  cattle  from  the  country  were 
being  driven  through  the  town  to  the  market-pens 
by  the  railway  station.  Under  the  flanking  arch 
of  the  "  Beaufort  Arms  "  a  lively  Welsh  ram  made 
a  charge  at  us  ending  in  a  leap,  shoulder  high ; 
and  for  the  first  time  in  my  experience  Chepstow 
streets  appeared  wide  awake.  For  within  that 
arch  Beaufort  Square  and  the  town  about  it  have 
as  a  rule  the  appearance  of  living  upon  the  recol- 
lection of  past  market-days,  an  ancient  siege  or 
so  of  the  Castle,  and  the  memory  of  Henry  Marten 
the  Regicide. 

But  once  you  relate  the  town  to  the  countryside 
and  the  old  forest  tracts  for  whose  timber  it  once 
served  as  river-port,  all  becomes  changed.  Then 
the  west-country  air  blows  down  the  Wye  valley 
loaded  with  the  true  Monmouthshire  spice,  and 
mixes  persuasively  with  the  salt  breath  of  the 
tide  under  the  Castle  and  the  bridge.  The  Castle, 
cold  at  first  to  the  traveller's  mind,  as  castles  are 
apt  to  be,  begins  to  rekindle  in  the  picture.  It 
assumes  again  the  name  it  bore  in  Domesday 
Book  :  "  Castellum  de  Estrighoeil "  —  a  name 

i* 


14  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

puzzling  at  first,  which,  as  you  think  it  over, 
seems  fairly  to  bristle  with  military  threats, 
and  far  more  than  the  Saxon  Chepstowe  (Cheap 
Stowe)  holds  the  clue  to  the  original  site.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  Roman  to  begin  with  ?  Strata  Julia, 
the  Welsh  of  which  is  Ystrad  Iwl — Ystrigoil  ? 
Possibly  there  was  another  British  name  before 
the  Roman  ?  But  it  is  clear  at  any  rate  that  under 
the  title  of  Chepstow  you  have  a  British  camp  and 
a  Roman  station,  a  Norman  castle  and  an  English 
town  in  a  Welsh  country  which  gradually  grew 
under  cover  of  the  Castle,  and  was  approached  by 
what  had  been  a  Roman  road,  the  old  Vicinal  Way. 
You  lost  the  old  sense  of  the  town  and  its 
approaches  in  coming  here  by  train,  instead  of 
walking  or  riding  the  road  from  Gloucester — the 
turnpike  still  called  by  the  people  the  Street. 
Tramping  that  stretch  of  road,  you  would  expe- 
rience what  it  is  in  an  old  country  highway,  and 
for  choice  one  going  west  and  following  a  Roman 
lead,  that  gets  hold  of  mortal  man,  and  tells  him 
he  is  walking  with  the  dust  of  the  feet  of  fifty 
generations  and  more  on  his  boots.  However, 
even  as  you  hurry  by  rail  down  the  Severn  with 
the  river  appearing  and  disappearing  on  your  left 
and  the  Street  some  two  or  three  farms  away  on 
your  right,  you  may  recover  something  of  the 
mediaeval  traveller's  mood,  and  carry  from  Lydney 
mixed  ideas  of  an  old  weather-god  like  Lud  and 
of  a  forester  from  the  Forest  of  Dean  like  Madawc 
the  son  of  Twrgadarn.  With  the  final  drop  into 
the  Wye  Valley  over  Twt  Hill,  through  which  the 
train  tunnels,  cutting  you  off  from  Gloucester,  you 
are  in  debatable  land.  For  Monmouthshire,  like 
Alsace  and  Lorraine,  is  a  mixed  country.  It  is 
not  England  ;  it  is  not,  at  any  rate  in  its  eastern 


CHEPSTOW  AND  THE  WYE  15 

or  Wye  borders,  Wales.  In  its  wild  aspect  it  is 
absolute  Welsh,  however,  of  the  unmistakable 
kind  found  in  the  old  tales,  and  in  the  western 
valleys  it  still  speaks  the  old  tongue.  It  has  its 
deep  wooded  Wye  Valley,  its  strong  castles  like 
Estrighoeil,  Goodrich,  or  St.  Briavel's,  built  high 
above  the  river  ;  its  hermit's  chapel,  like  St. 
David's  cell  above  the  Chepstow  ferry  ;  and  its 
churches,  like  Llancaut  (Llancoed),  hid  in  deep 
riverside  coppices. 

Every  old  bridge,  and  every  new  bridge  that 
stands  where  an  old  one  stood,  has  its  traditions. 
Chepstow  Bridge  has  one  memory  which  brings 
home  to  you  the  notion  of  empty  space  crossed 
by  a  single  giddy  plank  ;  the  notion  you  find  in  the 
ballad  of  Sir  Owain : — 

"  The  brigge  was  as  heigh  as  a  tour 
And  as  scharpe  as  a  rasour, 

And  narrow  it  was  also  : 
And  the  water  that  there  ran  under 
Brend  o'  lightning  and  of  thonder, 

That  thocht  him  mickle  wo." 

This  actual  story  of  the  traveller-by-night  who 
came  late  to  Chepstow  Bridge  goes  back  to  the 
day  when  the  Bridge  was  a  wooden  one,  with 
planks  so  sprung  and  tenoned  that  in  case  of 
flood  they  lifted  with  the  water.  And  it  was  at 
times,  says  the  local  recorder,  "  very  dangerous  in 
crossing,  because  the  planks  which  formed  the 
flooring  rose  and  fell  with  the  tide,  so  that  it 
seemed  like  walking  on  stilts."  Once,  after  a 
very  heavy  flood,  the  bridge  had  to  be  put 
under  repair,  and  the  flooring  was  removed, 
only  one  or  two  planks  being  left  for  foot- 
passengers.  The  place  was  well  lighted,  and  a 


16  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

man  stationed  to  warn  passengers  of  their 
danger:  but  on  this  particular  night  it  proved 
so  stormy  that  the  lights  were  blown  out,  and 
the  bridge-keeper,  concluding  that  no  one  would 
attempt  to  cross,  retired  to  shelter.  After  mid- 
night, however,  a  traveller  on  horseback  was 
heard  knocking  on  the  door  of  the  inn,  at  the 
bridge  end,  affirming  that  he  had  just  crossed. 
The  innkeeper  said  it  was  impossible  ;  but,  recog- 
nising the  man's  voice,  he  opened  the  door.  In 
the  morning  the  traveller  repeated  his  story  of 
having  crossed  the  bridge ;  whereupon  his  host 
took  and  showed  him  the  plank  he  must  have 
passed  over,  "at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the 
gulph  below."  The  man  was  so  moved  thereupon 
to  his  vitals  by  the  danger  he  had  unwittingly 
run,  that  his  nerve  gave  way,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  he  could  retake  his  road. 

The  oldest  Chepstow  bridge  of  all  was  Roman 
and  above  the  Castle,  and  the  road  cutting  in  the 
steep  cliff  that  led  down  to  it,  and  some  broken 
abutments  and  piers,  could  still  be  seen  at  low 
water  within  living  memory.  This  was  the  work 
of  Julius  Frontinus,  who  is  credited  with  giving 
a  name  to  Ystrad  Iwl.  The  first  Norman  castle 
was  only  the  usual  timbered  structure  on  the 
verge  of  the  cliff,  and  the  first  builder  on  the 
site  was  William  FitzOsborn,  Earl  of  Hereford, 
"  who  cherished  an  enormous  cause  by  his  bold- 
ness," and  fortified  the  place  to  guard  this  corner 
of  his  wide  possessions.  "  He  slew  many,  and 
died  by  the  sword."  His  son,  Roger  de  Britolio, 
turned  rebel,  lost  Chepstow ;  whereafter  it  fell  to 
the  Clares  and  Richard  Strongbow.  Through 
Richard's  daughter,  Isabel,  it  went  by  marriage 
then  to  the  Marshalls,  of  whom  we  shall  hear 


TOWN   GATE,  CHEPSTOW. 
From  a  drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas. 


To  face  p.  16. 


CHEPSTOW  AND  THE  WYE  17 

again.  These  Clares,  Strongbows,  Marshalls,  and 
the  rest  are  hard  to  individualise ;  but  among 
them  are  to  be  found  the  originals  of  the  knights 
who  live  again  in  the  Morte  D' Arthur  and  the 
Mabinogion. 

An  artist  in  antiquities  once  went  to  Chepstow 
Castle  to  sketch  its  walls.  But  the  afternoon  was 
sultry  and  the  courts  were  hot  and  airless,  and 
he  ended  by  sitting  down  on  a  wall  in  one  of  the 
courts,  overcome  by  the  smell  of  hot  ivy,  and 
dozing  away  some  centuries.  In  that  taking  he 
saw  an  immense  man,  dressed  in  armour,  against 
the  sky,  shining  in  the  sun.  The  figure  stood  upon 
the  edge  of  the  wall  at  the  landward  side  of  the 
Castle,  bright  and  stiff  as  a  metal  figure. 

The  sleeper  thought,  "  That  is  Richard — Richard 
Strongbow — and  he  is  going  to  fall." 

Thereupon  Richard  stiffly  began  to  sway  and 
topple  over,  sure  enough ;  and  yet  he  did  not 
quite  fall.  While  the  knight  was  still  at  that 
uncomfortable  angle,  the  dreamer  woke  up  to 
see  a  sturdy  little  parson  escorting  a  tired  lady 
over  the  ruins,  and  telling  her  everything,  without 
pity.  It  was  his  voice  repeating  "  Richard 
Strongbow ! "  that  had  evoked  the  dream. 

To-day,  Chepstow  Castle,  built  at  as  many 
different  periods  as  there  are  courts  contained 
in  it,  gives  you  a  quite  excessive  notion  of  the 
original  place.  That  was  a  plain  keep  only,  first 
of  wood,  then  of  stone,  based  on  the  rock,  whose 
remains  you  can  discover  in  the  third  court,  much 
altered  later,  and  now  called  the  Chapel.  The 
structure  was  some  ten  paces  broad  and  thirty 
long ;  and  in  fact  the  early  Norman  castles  did  not 
give  their  occupants,  if  a  garrison  is  allowed  for, 
very  much  room. 

2 


18  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Most  of  the  Castle,  as  it  stands,  was  of  the 
second  term ;  for  there  was  an  Old  Castle  era 
and  a  New  Castle  era  to  reckon  within  the  castle- 
building  centuries ;  and  Chepstow  grew  greatly 
as  time  went  on.  The  earlier  type  of  building, 
built  at  any  time  between  the  Conquest  and  the 
death  of  Rufus,  was  a  plain  strong-house  or  keep, 
chiefly  made  of  wood,  intended  like  a  larger  suit 
of  armour  to  protect  a  few  men  ;  and  it  was  set 
on  a  tump,  or  rock,  or  any  convenient  old  Roman 
or  British  site.  The  latter  kind  of  castle  was 
made  for  comfort  in  living,  as  well  as  for  defence : 
the  type  that  grew  at  last  into  a  huge  castellated 
enclosure,  like  Caerphilly  or  Alnwick. 

The  round  towers  of  the  southern  end  of 
Chepstow  Castle,  which  give  so  much  character 
to  the  building,  and  resolve  so  graciously  the 
salient  curves  and  water- worn  lines  of  the  Wye 
under  the  Striguil  rock,  were  built,  I  believe,  by 
Roger  Bigod.  And  finally  the  true  praise  of  this 
Castle  is  the  recognition  of  its  natural  fitness 
there  on  its  river-cliff.  Its  containing  walls  and 
towers  have  a  structural  relation  to  the  site ;  and 
the  noble  mason-work  above,  and  the  natural 
strata  below,  and  the  details  of  the  surrounding 
scene  are  as  much  of  a  piece  as  if  man's  work 
had  grown  out  of  Nature's.  This  is  a  test  to 
which  all  buildings,  set  in  fine  surroundings, 
must  conform,  or  fail,  as  so  many  modern  build- 
ings do  fail.  The  tubular  railway  bridge  at 
Chepstow,  hard,  straight,  abrupt,  breaks  with 
every  natural  form  about  it  ;  and  the  Castle 
quarrels  with  it  at  every  juxtaposition. 

The  ghost  of  Henry  Marten  the  Regicide,  as  I 
said,  rather  bothers  one  in  exploring  Chepstow 
Castle  to-day.  Within  the  first  court,  the  tower 


CHEPSTOW  AND  THE  WYE  19 

which  imprisoned  him  at  once  confronts  you  on 
the  left.  The  Castle's  history  is  apt  in  local  gossip 
to  begin  and  end  with  Marten,  though  he  was 
but  one  among  many  famous  inmates,  from  Fitz- 
Osborn,  who  was  there  first,  and  the  de  Clares, 
the  great  castle-dealers  of  the  south,  to  Jeremy 
Taylor.  But  Chepstow  Castle  -saw  less  fighting  in 
mediaeval  days  than  might  have  been  expected, 
because  it  was  so  strong.  The  defences  that  guard 
its  four  courts  show  how  strong  it  was,  and  as  one 
mounts  from  the  river-chamber  to  the  towers  and 
gazes  eastward  upon  the  Gloucestershire  landscape, 
one  realises  that  the  place  was  all  but  impregnable 
till  cannon  were  invented.  After  that  it  had  to 
yield  to  both  King  and  Parliament  in  turn.  In  the 
Civil  War  Cromwell  came  once  to  see  his  guns 
batter  it ;  but  did  not  stay  to  see  it  fall.  It  was 
in  1645  that,  after  a  desperate  siege,  Cromwell's 
men,  under  Colonel  Ewer,  took  the  Castle,  then 
held  by  Sir  Nicholas  Kemeys,  with  great  slaughter. 
The  Roundheads  revenged  themselves  for  the 
obstinacy  of  the  defence  by  putting  a  fourth  of 
the  garrison  to  the  sword  in  cold  blood,  and 
Kemeys  among  them.  A  wicked  deed,  to  be  re- 
membered as  you  walk  the  courts. 

Marten  was  lucky  in  his  prison,  and  probably 
lived  longer  in  it  than  he  would  have  done  out 
of  it.  His  acrostic  epitaph  may  be  seen  in  the 
church.  It  shows  a  certain  vigour  and  a  rough 
wit,  such  as  he  was  credited  with : — 

"Here  or  elsewhere  (all's  one  to  you  or  me), 
2?arth,  air,  or  water  gripes  my  ghostless  dust ; 
JVbne  knows  how  soon  to  be  by  fire  set  free. 
jReader,  if  you  an  oft-tryed  rule  will  trust, 
Fou'll  gladly  do  and  suffer  what  you  must." 


20  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

The  last  line  in   the  Marten  verse  rings  prover- 
bially : — 

"Not  how  you  end,  but  how  you  spend  your  dayes." 

After  the  Castle  has  been  explored,  St.  Mary's 
Church  can  be  reached  via  Bridge  Street  and 
Church  Street.  The  church  has  much  individu- 
ality; many  restorations  have  not  destroyed 
its  Norman  lines.  Its  nave  suggests  that  the 
building  was  originally  designed  for  a  priory 
church  of  some  state.  The  canopied  tomb  in  the 
chancel  is  that  of  Henry,  second  Earl  of  Worcester, 
who  died  in  1549.  Chepstow  Bridge  lies  at  the 
foot  of  Bridge  Street,  and  brings  river,  town,  and 
Castle  into  a  lazy  guide-book  perspective,  like 
something  in  an  old  print. 

I  had  always  thought  that  Hawker's  Hill,  one  of 
the  narrow  lower  streets,  had  really  been  a  street 
given  up  to  the  hawkers  who  had  used  the  town 
as  a  convenient  place  of  resort.  But  once  a  farmer, 
walking  with  me  in  a  field  a  mile  above  Tintern, 
said,  pointing  over  the  river,  "Just  there  lies 
Hawker's  Dyke."  He  meant  Offa's,  so  I  suppose 
Hawker's  Hill  is  Offa's  too.  GK  pointed  out  a 
window  in  Hawker's  Hill  which  had  evidently 
once  been  ecclesiastical.  Bridge  Street,  near  the 
church,  used  to  be  called  St.  Ann's  Street,  after 
the  chapel  of  that  name,  in  time  turned  into  a 
bark-house.  Oak-bark  from  the  Forest  of  Dean 
used  to  be  one  of  the  chief  exports  here. 

The  old  Cambrian  Travellers  Guide  speaks  of 
the  Priory  of  St.  Kynemark  on  "a  pleasant  emi- 
nence to  the  west  of  the  town "  (not  far  from 
Piercefield  Lodge),  which  was,  like  so  many  re- 
ligious houses,  turned  into  farm  walls — at  St. 


CHEPSTOW  AND  THE   WYE  21 

Kynemark's  Farm.  Again,  "  In  the  town  are  the 
remains  of  several  chapels.  Near  the  Beaufort 
Arms  are  two  stone  buildings,  used  for  a  barn  and 
coach-house  ;  one  having  a  Norman  and  the  other 
a  pointed-arched  doorway.  Opposite  the  Beaufort 
Arms  is  a  small  vault,  under  Fydell's  long  room ; 
the  stone  roof  is  vaulted  and  engroined.  Another 
old  religious  edifice  adjoins  Powis's  Almhouse.  A 
priory  for  monks  of  the  Benedictine  Order  was 
founded  here  soon  after  the  Conquest,  called 
Strigule,  or  Striguil,  monastery.  It  constituted  a 
cell  to  the  abbey  of  Corneille,  in  Normandy."  But 
where  is  "Fydell's  long-room"  now?  Lost  in  an 
irrevocable  Georgian  antiquity. 

Turning  coastwards,  on  the  search  for  remains, 
you  look  first  for  St.  Tecla's  Chapel,  which  sailors 
and  others  call  Treacle  Chapel,  perched  on  a  rock 
right  at  the  entrance  to  the  Wye.  Tecla  was  the 
daughter  of  a  chief  of  Gwynedd,  old  North  Wales  : 
how  she  came  so  far  south  I  do  not  know.  She 
seems  to  bear  a  close  resemblance  to  the  type  of 
hermitess  found  in  the  Sir  Percival  and  Grail 
stories ;  indeed,  is  she  not  like  Sir  Percival's  sister  ? 
Her  end  was  tragic.  Both  Danish  and  Irish  pirates 
often  sailed  up  the  Severn  Sea  and  entered  the 
Wye :  and  one  band  spied  the  cell  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Tecla.  Let  us  hope  they  did  not  linger 
out  her  death. 

Before  you  leave  the  Wye,  the  track  of  the  sea- 
raiders  who  sailed  up  it  and  raided  places  as  far 
above  Tiiitern  as  Symond's  Yat  ought  to  tempt 
you  to  boat  up  the  stream  with  the  tide.  The 
Wynd  Cliff  and  Tintern  Abbey  can  be  made  part 
of  the  voyage.  Last  time  I  saw  the  abbey,  late  in 
April,  the  orchards  around  it  were  in  full  blossom, 
and  through  every  window  in  turn  as  one  passed 


22  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

the  crystal  boughs  stared  in  and  gave  an  inde- 
scribable radiance  to  the  walls.  It  made  one  think 
of  the  fabled  Apple-Isle  : — 

"There  blooms  the  gleaming  deathless  tree 
Of  which  the  birds  with  harmony 
Of  many  a  song  intone  the  Hours 
Amid  the  fragrant  apple-flowers. 

And  on  the  silent,  listening  lawns 
Are  flowers  of  rarest  radiance  ; 
And  shining  plains  where  song  is  loud 
Lie  southward  like  a  silver  cloud." 

The  companion  scene  to  this  belongs  to  the  same 
record.  It  was  a  misty  morning,  not  very  good 
for  such  an  expedition,  and  the  sight  of  a  house 
— a  corn-miller's — which  had  caught  fire  the  night 
before,  whose  walls  still  smouldered  and  sent 
a  thin  wisp  or  two  of  smoke  to  join  the  mist, 
seemed  to  threaten  a  bad  day.  But  reaching  the 
foot  of  the  Wyndcliff,  after  skirting  some  woods 
full  of  wild-garlic  mixed  with  lily-of-the-valley, 
I  decided  to  climb  it  from  the  ridiculous  tourist's 
or  stage-carpenter's  moss-cottage  where  you  pay 
sixpence  for  the  privilege. 

About  three-quarters  of  the  way  up  the  mist 
grew  lighter,  as  if  some  one  were  puffing  it  away 
from  the  trees.  Another  twenty  feet  up,  and  the 
palest  blue  sky  imaginable  began  to  appear  over- 
head, with  a  sun  pale-white  as  a  pewter  spoon. 
Finally,  having  reached  the  summit  and  gained  a 
point  where  nothing  came  in  the  way,  I  saw  the 
mist  rolling  away  below  like  thin  muslin,  and 
leaving  the  lower  valley  clear.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  came  the  miracle.  A  sort  of  second  sky 
appeared,  uncertainly  repeating  the  first,  and  in 


CHEPSTOW  AND  THE  WYE  23 

the  perspective  an  aerial  promontory  and  beyond 
that  a  sailing-vessel  were  to  be  discovered  ap- 
parently high  in  air.  The  lower  sky  was  the 
Sea  of  Severn,  and  the  vision  was  that  of  the 
meeting  of  the  waters  in  the  April  sun.  There 
lay  the  Severn  (whose  great  tide  often  flows 
grey  or  milk-blue,  to  ebb  tinged  with  rich  mud, 
yellow  or  brown)  like  a  creature  of  the  sky;  and 
the  Wye  was  tricked  out  with  the  same  light 
bright  colours. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE     "OLD     SEVERN     CROSSING" — PORTSKEWETT  — 

THE    SEVERN    TUNNEL — WENTWOOD 

TRAVELLING  west  from  Chepstow,  you  have  a 
choice  of  routes.  The  ten-mile  level  between  the 
mouth  of  the  Wye  and  the  mouth  of  the  Usk  is 
not  what  most  men  find  exciting  and  they  usually 
contrive  to  pass  it  by  at  high  railway  speed.  But 
it  edges  a  countryside  that  has  at  every  stage 
some  ruined  chapel,  some  fine  old  house  or  other, 
some  castle  like  Caldecot  on  the  flat,  or  Llanvair 
on  a  hill,  that  gives  history  to  a  scene  ;  and  it  is 
backed  by  one  of  the  few  aboriginal  extents  of 
wild  forest  left  in  the  country — the  forest  of  Gwent 
or  Wentwood. 

The  railway  for  a  space  runs  pretty  close  to  the 
water ;  the  main  road  is  a  couple  of  miles  away 
inland.  But  you  ought  to  leave  the  highway  after 
passing  Pwll  Meyrick  in  order  to  go  and  see 
Mathern  and  Moynes  Court :  or  you  can  take  a 
shorter  way  across  the  fields.  Mathern  has  a 
church  like  an  old  noble  dame,  that  tells  of  age 
well  borne,  and  it  is  so  placed  as  to  enlarge  its 
Norman  details  and  tall  tower.  One  of  the 
Welsh  knights  or  chiefs  who  became  saints,  a 
typical  romance-figure — Tewdric,  petty  king  of 

Morgan wg — lies  here ;  the  founder  of  the  church. 

H 


THE  "OLD  SEVERN  CROSSING"        25 

His  epitaph  speaks  of  him  as  Theodoric  "  com- 
monly called  St.  Thewdrick" — accounted  a  martyr 
because  he  had  taken  to  a  holy  life  voluntarily, 
giving  up  his  crown  to  his  son.  But  a  Saxon 
invasion  called  him  again  to  the  field.  A  battle 
at  Tintern  followed,  where  he  was  mortally  hurt. 
He  begged  his  son  Maurice  to  carry  him  home; 
but  the  mortal  pangs  gat  hold  on  him  when  they 
reached  Mathern.  There  he  died,  and  his  last 
wish  was  that  a  church  should  be  built  on  the 
spot.  A  stone  coffin  was  unearthed  there  in  1881. 

The  wooded  rocks  at  St.  Pierre  near  by  start 
up  dramatically  to  tell  you  of  the  miles  of  the 
forestland  of  Wentwood  which  Tewdrick  hunted. 
In  mediaeval  days  they  ran  from  the  sea-borders 
without  a  break  west  and  north  to  the  Usk 
Valley.  It  was  a  perfect  romance-forest,  a  forest 
of  the  Mdbinogion.  As  you  explore  it,  you  find 
at  every  turn  the  very  trees,  or  their  direct 
offspring,  that  gave  reality  to  the  tales  of  the 
countryside.  "And  he  did  not  choose  the 
pleasantest  and  most  frequented  road,  but  that 
which  was  the  wildest  and  most  beset  by  thieves 
and  robbers  and  venomous  beasts.  And  they 
came  to  a  high-road,  which  they  followed  till 
they  saw  a  vast  forest,  and  they  went  towards 
it,  and  they  saw  four  armed  horsemen  come 
forth  from  the  forest."  This  is  from  a  page  of 
the  Mdbinogion — a  tale  saturated  with  Gwentian 
local  colour  and  perfume ;  and  the  four  armed 
horsemen  are  its  inevitable  creatures.  They  will 
overtake  you,  if  you  should  follow  a  road  like 
that  leading  from  Caer  Went ;  they  will  start  out 
again  and  again  from  the  wood,  as  you  pursue 
your  way  north-west. 

The     right     point     from     which    to    approach 


26  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Wentwood  is  from  Portskewett,  about  two 
miles  south-west  of  Mathern,  but  over  three 
by  the  road  round  by  St.  Pierre.  You  may  not, 
remembering  the  days  before  the  Severn  Tunnel 
was  made,  think  of  it  as  a  forest  landmark  ;  but 
its  name  is  corrupted  from  Porth-is-Coed,  the  port 
under  the  wood.  It  is  hard  now  to  rescue  its 
washed-away  waterside  purlieus;  but  they  once 
stretched  far  into  the  side-channel.  Indeed, 
Portskewett  figures  in  the  Triads  as  one  of  the 
three  chief  harbours  of  Wales.  You  ought  to 
take  the  chance  of  a  very  low  ebb  (say,  in  a 
dry  September)  to  explore  the  lines  of  the  lost 
harbour  at  the  aber  of  the  Nedern  or  Troggy. 
Colonel  Morgan  pointed  out  long  ago  the  names 
of  spots  in  the  channel,  which  were  once  dry 
land.  "  Gruggy "  is  a  queer  name  to  fish  out  of 
the  salt  water,  for  it  comes  either  from  "crugyn," 
a  mound  or  tump ;  or  Gryg,  heather.  Bedwin 
means  birch-grove ;  and  other  such  woody  places 
lie  drowned  off  Portskewett. 

Harold  built  there  a  house  whose  foundations 
have  left  their  traces  close  to  the  church,  and  in 
the  church  itself  is  a  Saxon  tympanum,  whose 
like  is  nowhere  else  to  be  seen  in  the  country. 
Harold  meant  to  entertain  King  Edward  the 
Confessor  in  state  at  the  new  house,  and  tradition 
declares  they  met  there.  If  you  turn  to  Florence 
of  Worcester  you  find  the  rest  of  the  story,  in 
which  Tostig,  Harold's  brother,  raided  his  palace 
and  camp,  in  revenge,  it  is  said,  for  the  preference 
shown  to  Harold  by  the  King.  Harold's  Welsh 
raids  would  make  a  good  fighting  saga.  They 
are  mixed  with  the  deadly  feuds  of  two  Gruffydds 
— Gruffydd  ab  Llewelyn  and  Gruffydd  ab  Rhyd- 
derch,  of  whom  the  first  was  a  man  of  temper 


THE  "OLD  SEVERN  CROSSING"         27 

and  resource,  fit  to  range  with  Harold's  own 
powers.  He  deserved  better  than  the  cruel  death 
he  suffered  from  his  own  countrymen — the  out- 
come of  one  of  the  endless  Welsh  vendettas 
which  went  on  under  the  tribal  order  and  dis- 
order. 

My  recollection  of  Portskewett  dates  back  to 
the  time  when  there  was  no  Severn  Tunnel,  and 
travelling  from  Bristol  to  Carmarthen,  we  alighted 
on  the  Somerset  side,  to  cross  by  broad-decked 
paddle-boats :  a  sort  of  miniature  Holyhead-to- 
Kingstown  experience. 

Out  of  all  these  crossings  one  made  at  Easter 
comes  back  clearly  to  mind.  It  was  blowing  and 
raining  hard.  The  Severn  was  rough  and  dirty 
enough  for  any  open  sea,  tumbling  and  rolling 
with  choppy  muddy  yellow  billows  before  a  west 
wind.  It  was  more  daunting  than  Holyhead 
itself  in  the  teeth  of  a  gale — the  flooded  Severn, 
about  an  hour  after  high  water,  looked  so 
malevolent.  The  wind,  too,  in  the  station  at 
Portskewett  —  crying,  buffeting,  howling,  and 
whistling — was  such  as  only  Dickens  with  his 
uncanny  faculty  of  describing  the  elements  at 
odds  with  roof  and  walls,  could  describe.  I  have 
often  thought  of  that  crossing  when  being  sucked 
through  the  Severn  Tunnel  in  an  air-tight,  sul- 
phureous cylinder  of  a  railway  compartment  in 
about  a  tenth  part  of  the  time  :  a  great  saving, 
no  doubt,  but  a  traveller's  experience  not  at  all 
to  be  compared  with  the  other. 

More  than  a  generation  later,  a  September  even- 
ing took  me  again  to  Portskewett.  The  old  water- 
side hotel  was  an  hotel  no  longer ;  but  it  let  me 
have  pleasant  quarters  for  the  night;  and  after 
supper  I  walked  under  the  stars  to  the  waterside, 


28  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

and  heard  the  lazy  flap  of  the  tide  against  the 
causeway,  while  in  the  distance  sounded  what 
seemed  to  be  a  noise  of  forge-hamers,  or  heavy 
clamping,  possibly  from  the  works  at  Sudbrook. 

An  early  start  next  morning  brought  Crick  into 
view  betimes,  and  beyond  it  the  open  road  to 
Caerwent.  There  was  in  the  air  the  sweet,  clean 
smell  of  corn  in  the  field,  ready  to  be  led ;  and 
flocks  of  buntings,  finches,  and  hedge-sparrows, 
swoln  with  new  wheat,  were  to  be  spied  flying  up 
as  some  harvest  cart  or  stray  harvester  disturbed 
them.  But  the  high-road  was  almost  empty. 
The  only  being  I  met  during  the  first  half-mile 
was  a  black  man,  in  what  might  be  a  seaman's 
Sunday  clothes.  What  was  he  doing  on  the  road 
from  Caerwent  ?  When  he  had  gone  by,  far  ahead 
of  me,  a  string  of  what  looked  rather  like  a  troop 
of  women,  continually  changing  their  order  and 
crossing  to  and  fro,  appeared  on  the  dusty  highway. 
Presently,  one  of  them  fell  down,  and  then  they 
resolved  themselves  into  a  troop  of  school  children. 
Just  below  the  rise  to  Caerwent  village,  where 
one  tries  to  figure  the  last  entrance  to  the  old 
Roman  town,  I  overtook  them.  The  child  that  had 
fallen  was  a  small  boy,  fair-haired,  burstingly 
plump  and  well  cared  for ;  he  was  still  sobbing  in  a 
perfunctory  way ;  while  two  little  girls  held  his  fat 
hand  and  several  others  formed  a  body-guard  in 
white  pinafores,  behaving  as  if  he  was  a  hero  being 
led  in  triumph  to  the  camp.  A  penny  dried  his  tears. 
In  the  last  glimpse  I  had,  the  youngsters  were  clus- 
tered like  white  butterflies  round  a  small  village 
shop,  with  lollypops  in  the  window  ;  no  doubt  very 
like  those  on  which  the  small  boys  and  girls  of  the 
camp  formerly  spent  their  Roman  halfpence. 

Everywhere   at    Caerwent  the   Roman    illusion 


THE   "OLD  SEVERN  CROSSING"         29 

keeps  cropping  out  in  the  Monmouth  village.  The 
excavation-field  had  just  revealed,  when  I  saw  it,  a 
gateway  in  a  ten-foot  cutting,  out  of  which  climbed 
a  labourer.  The  resurrection  of  a  live  Roman 
soldier  in  helmet  and  tunic,  or  a  slave  with  his 
rations,  a  solid  wheaten  cake,  in  his  hand,  would 
not  have  been  much  more  startling.  The  wheaten 
cake  was  suggested  by  a  twopenny  loaf  which  I 
saw  a  Roman  baker  handing  in  at  a  door. 

But  Caerwent,  though  they  do  say,  mixing  no 
doubt  the  traditions  of  two  Caers  in  Gwent,  that 
the  sea  once  came  up  to  its  walls,  is  too  far  from  our 
main  route  to  be  further  exploited  here.  Every 
year  the  archselogical  men  are  laying  bare  more  of 
the  old  lines  of  the  Roman  city ;  and  its  map  will 
be  made  and  its  record  written,  plain  as  that  of 
Pompeii,  some  five  or  six  years  hence. 

If  you  return  to  Portskewett  from  Caerwent,  you 
can  take  another  road  back,  via  Caldecot,  after  ex- 
ploring the  old  wall  and  round  buttress  behind  and 
below  the  church.  Caerwent  Church  itself,  by  the 
way,  is  half  Roman,  its  walls  being  largely  built  out 
of  the  old  buildings  of  the  Caer.  In  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  this  road  brings  you  to  Caldecot  village, 
and  so  to  the  Castle ;  one  of  the  few  purposely  built 
in  this  country  on  a  wet  site,  with  the  marsh  used 
for  defence. 

It  was  a  hot,  sleepy  afternoon  when  I  reached 
Caldecot  on  my  way  back  from  Caerleon.  No 
wayfarers  at  all  were  on  the  road,  and  in  the 
scattered  village  doors  were  shut  and  houses 
seemed  asleep.  Outside  an  inn  a  hawker's  cart  was 
standing  ;  the  people  in  the  churchyard  were  not 
quieter  than  those  in  the  houses.  It  was  hard  to 
find  any  one  to  serve  as  a  key-bearer  to  the  Castle, 
which  is  not  open  every  day  to  the  public.  It  was 


30  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

equally  hard,  having  reached  it,  to  imagine  it  had 
ever  been  meant  for  war  by  the  De  Bohuns,  so 
deep  was  the  afternoon  quiet  about  its  sunburnt 
mounds  and  round  towers. 

Caldecot  Castle  was  built  in  three  pieces  at  three 
different  times.  The  four  or  five  carved  Maloresque 
heads  on  the  west  side  of  the  machicolated  gateway 
tempt  one  to  think  the  whole  building  later  than  it 
is.  The  oldest  part  is  the  keep,  on  its  made  mound, 
with  its  queer  excrescent  smaller  tower,  which 
leaves  one  conjecturing  if  a  live  cock  or  a  larger 
biped  was  walled  up  in  it.  There  is  some  mystery 
about  it.  This  was  built  about  1150-1175.  After 
that  the  De  Bohuns  went  on  building  from  time  to 
time,  and  occasionally  pulled  down  an  old  piece  to 
make  a  new.  The  whole  area  covered  is  enough 
for  a  whole  village.  The  ruins  came  at  length  into 
the  hands  of  a  most  conscientious  restorer  in  Mr. 
Cobb,  its  present  owner,  who  gives  us  a  wonderful 
idea  of  the  place  in  its  fighting  prime.  In  his  car- 
toon the  main  structure  fairly  bristles  with  timber, 
rather  like  an  ironclad  with  its  torpedo  spars  out. 
Caldecot's  towers  and  walls  have  great  corbels  and 
big  holes  (going  through  the  parapet),  which  must 
have  been  intended  to  hold  timber  struts  for  active 
defence.  In  this  extraneous  timbering  one  has  a 
relic  possibly  of  the  earlier  kind  of  Norman  castle, 
which  was  mainly  a  wooden  erection  with  stone 
ballast,  earthen  dyke,  and  bristling  palisade. 

Caldecot  is  another  of  the  places  that  get  their 
name  from  the  neighbouring  forest — Wentwood. 
In  Welsh,  it  is  Cil-y-Coed — edge  of  the  wood.  The 
De  Bohuns,  its  lords  and  chief  builders,  were  earls 
of  Hereford  ;  and  their  family  history  and  some 
of  its  scrolls  will  be  found  worth  deciphering.  The 
De  Bohun  shield,  with  its  golden  lioncels  rampant 


THE  "OLD  SEVERN  CROSSING"        31 

(Humphrey,  the  fourth  earl,  figured  six  of  them 
in  an  azure  field,  with  a  bend  argent  cotised  or), 
seems  designed  for  the  ornate  knights  of  the  later 
Mabinogion,  or  one  to  be  borne  by  Sir  Gilbert  in  the 
Morte  D' Arthur.  There  was  a  Sir  Gilbert  de  Bohun 
whose  shield  had  the  lioncels  too,  but  distinguished 
by  having  his  bend  or  with  three  escallops  gules 
charged  upon  it. 

"In  that  tyme  was  the  manner  so, 
Whan  yonge  knightis  shuld  sheldis  show." 

One  would  like  to  know  how  much  of  the  founda- 
tions of  Caldecot,  which  had  to  be  well  and  surely 
found  in  that  marshy  site,  came  from  Caerwent. 

From  Caldecot  it  is  about  a  mile  to  Sudbrook 
Camp.  The  camp  is  on  the  very  edge  of  the  Severn, 
which  has  been  eating  away  the  site  slowly  all 
these  years.  There  you  realise  again  the  old  Severn 
Sea  of  the  primitive  invaders  and  the  three  invasions 
of  this  coast.  The  camp  was  one  of  many  which 
seem  to  have  been  made  with  some  general  idea  of 
connected  use  along  the  Severn  estuary.  On  the 
Bristol  side  there  was  Oldbury,  and  nearly  opposite 
it,  on  the  Chepstow  side,  Sedbury ;  Beachley  and 
St.  Tecla's  could  be  seized  and  held  at  need.  The 
Danes  who  made — or  in  some  cases  adopted — these 
camps,  returned  yearly  to  the  Severn  and  the  Wye. 
The  evidence  of  the  fight  at  Symond's  Yat,  and 
the  tales  of  the  Welsh  Saints,  lend  weight  to  an 
earlier  custom  of  this  kind.  But  the  later  security 
of  this  coast  is  shown  at  Sudbrook  by  the  site  of 
the  chapel.  It  stood  within  the  very  dyke  of  the 
Danes'  Camp,  a  ruin  to  be  named  with  other  dis- 
mantled chapels  on  the  Welsh  coast. 

Sudbrook  Chapel  has  not  been  used  for  church 


32  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

service  now  for  two  centuries  and  more.  The  last 
certain  notice  of  its  use  dates  back  to  1755,  and  to 
the  burial  of  a  sea-captain,  by  name  Blethyn  Smith. 
The  old  place  appealed  to  him,  as  did  Mathern  to 
more  than  one  bishop.  He  asked  in  his  will  to  be 
buried  "  in  the  eastern  end  of  the  chancel  of  the 
decayed  church  of  Sudbrook,  as  near  the  wall  as 
may  be,  attended  by  six  seafaring  men  as  bearers 
— my  coffin  covered  with  the  ensigns  of  colours  of 
a  ship  instead  of  a  pall."  A  brass  plate  was  put 
on  the  wall  over  his  grave,  but  it  has  long  since 
disappeared.  At  Sudbrook  you  can  still  picture 
the  ship-master's  funeral — especially  if  there  should 
be  a  Bristol  barque  going  down  channel  to  help 
you  to  recall  the  old  days  before  steam  came  in. 
Then  the  ship's  boat  and  the  six  sailors  give  way 
to  a  Viking's  war-vessel,  such  as  that  they  dug  out 
of  the  mud  in  making  Newport  Docks,  and  the 
chapel  vanishes  and  you  see  the  Danish  pirates 
run  into  the  neighbouring  pill  and  prepare  to 
use  the  camp  as  a  base  for  their  next  raid  inland. 
Much  history  lies  embedded  in  the  mud  bank  at 
Sudbrook. 


CHAPTER  III 

NEWPORT,  OB  NEWCASTLE-UPON-USK — ST.  WOOLOS'S 
AND  STOW  HILL  —  REBECCA'S  DAUGHTERS  AND 
THE  SEVERN  PIRATES — A  WELSH  MINNESINGER. 

You  may  go  to  Newport  to-day  and  spy  there 
only  a  great  commercial  city  and  a  seaport  in 
the  making.  For  as  you  cross  the  Usk  by  rail 
you  may  chance  to  miss  a  passing  glimpse  of  the 
Castle  above  the  water  or  the  tidal  mud.  Outside 
the  station  yard,  too,  everything  that  first  appears 
is  aggressively  new  and  crude — the  trams,  the  big, 
motley  buildings,  the  busy  vista  right  and  left. 
But  amid  the  hubbub  you  can,  with  a  little 
patience,  find  the  lines  of  the  old  town  that  lay 
between  "  Castell-ar-Wysg "  and  the  noble  old 
church  of  St.  Gwynllyw  up  Stow  Hill. 

Its  place  on  the  coast  at  the  mouth  of  the  Usk 
brought  it  custom  formerly,  just  as  its  docks  and 
railways  do  now.  To-day  the  "  new-castle,"  newest 
of  the  town,  is  the  railway  station.  Many  years 
ago,  when  trains  used  to  be  parliamentary  and 
slow  as  reform,  a  small  party  of  travellers  got 
to  Newport  one  wet  evening,  after  some  twelve 
hours'  weary  travel.  They  had  come  all  the 
way  from  the  other  Newcastle  (upon-Tyne),  but 
alighted  here  to  change  trains  for  Carmarthen, 
much  too  hungry  to  think  of  any  connection 

3  33 


34  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

the  two  towns  might  happen  to  have.  In  half 
an  hour  more  the  Milford  night  mail  would  pass : 
and  (for  I  was  one  of  the  party)  we  had  time  for 
tea  in  the  refreshment-room  :  wonderful,  strong, 
well- stewed  tea,  and  delicious  thin  bread  and 
butter  of  home-made  Welsh  bread  such  as  you 
never  see  in  refreshment- rooms  nowadays.  Again, 
many  years  later,  when  the  National  Eisteddfod 
was  held  in  the  town,  it  fell  to  me  to  watch  some 
forty  trains  arrive  one  afternoon  and  disgorge 
their  crowds.  Welsh  hill-folk,  country  people, 
miners  from  the  mining  valleys,  singing  men  and 
girls,  small,  bright-eyed  women,  and  strings  of 
children  went  by  in  that  crowd.  It  gave  one  the 
sense  of  a  people  en  fete,  a  nation  in  movement. 
My  anxiety  about  one  atom  in  that  multitude, 
the  one  expected  face  that  did  not  arrive,  lent  a 
painful  interest  to  all  those  phantasmagoric  faces. 
It  occurred  to  me  then  that  we  have  the  same 
anxiety  on  a  railway  platform  to-day  that  our 
forbears  had  in  the  embrasure  of  a  castle,  or  in 
a  wattled  booth  of  the  Gwentian  hills  five,  six, 
seven  centuries  ago.  Our  surroundings  change ; 
our  emotions  never. 

For  a  picture  of  Tudor  Newport,  turn  to  Leland. 
He  speaks  of  the  great  stone  gate  by  the  bridge  ; 
a  second  in  "  the  High  strete  to  passe  thorough, 
and  the  3(rd)  at  the  west  end  of  the  toune."  He 
adds  that  "  the  fairest  of  the  toun "  is  all  in  one 
street,  and  that  the  town  is  in  ruin.  He  describes 
it  another  time  as  "  a  pretty  strong  town  "  ;  but 
"I  marked  not  whyther  yt  were  waulled  or  no." 
However,  the  walls,  as  well  as  the  three  gates, 
were  standing  and  in  good  order  then;  and  the 
office  of  the  Murenger  was  still  kept  up. 

The  Castle  dates  back  to  1140,  or  earlier,  when 


NEWPORT  35 

it  was  begun  by  Robert,  Earl  of  Gloucester,  who 
had  married  Mabel,  daughter  of  Fitzhamon.  The 
year  is  one  to  be  double-scored  in  the  Gwent  tra- 
dition. Robert  was  a  great  castle-builder;  a  shrewd 
intervener,  too,  between  the  two  peoples  from 
whose  marriage  he  sprang;  and  his  nephew  was 
Giraldus  Cambrensis,  a  pioneer  of  the  new  literary 
life  of  the  country.  As  parcel  of  the  lordship  of 
Morganwg,  Newport  often  figures  in  the  traffic 
betwixt  the  Welsh  and  Normans.  When  Henry 
II.,  on  his  return  from  Ireland,  recalling  his 
long  dispute  with  lorwerth  ap  Owain  of  Caer- 
leon,  paused  at  Newport  in  1171-1172,  he  sent  a 
safe-conduct  to  lorwerth  and  his  two  sons,  that 
they  might  come  and  do  homage  and  settle  their 
grievances  on  either  side.  But  some  soldiers  of 
Newport  intercepted  and  slew,  near  Usk,  lorwerth's 
eldest  son  when  he  was  on  the  way  to  join  his 
father,  and  lorwerth,  seeing  in  it  very  naturally 
Henry's  treachery,  went  home  vowing  revenge. 
Calling  the  Welsh  around  him,  he  marched  through 
Gwent  into  Gloucester,  doing  great  havoc.  New- 
port Castle,  after  the  death  of  Earl  Robert  and 
Mabel  his  wife,  passed  through  the  hands  of  many 
famous  owners,  including  the  De  Clares  and  De 
Spencers.  In  the  year  1645  we  hear  of  it  as  in  ruins. 
Newport  was  a  walled  town  formerly,  with  three 
town  gates,  the  last  of  which  left  standing  was 
in  the  High  Street.  The  house  of  the  Murenger, 
whose  office  was  to  act  as  wall-keeper  and  toll- 
collector,  was  still  to  be  seen  a  hundred  years 
ago,  near  the  High  Street  gateway. 

We  must  leave  the  lower  town  now  and  go  up 
Stow  Hill  to  St.  Woollos's,  and  look  from  the 
church  on  the  crowded  landscape — streets  upon 
streets,  houses  and  chimneys,  docks  and  railways 


36  THE   SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

— where  once  was  the  green  prospect  that  Gwynl- 
lyw  called  after  the  ox  with  the  black  spot — 
Dutelich.  Gwynllyw's  Church,  as  you  must  know, 
got  corrupted  by  degrees  into  St.  Woollos's — one 
of  many  changes  that  came  about  in  the  anglicising 
of  the  Welsh  place-names. 

Now,  St.  Woollos's  is  a  church  wherein  you  see 
what  it  is  always  interesting  to  see — the  different 
stages  and  layers  of  its  growth.  It  has  a  fair 
tower,  a  still  fairer  Norman  door ;  but  its  peculiar 
feature  is  the  aboriginal  building,  some  fifteen 
paces  long,  between  the  tower  and  the  later 
church.  This  is  known  as  St.  Mary's  Chapel ;  and 
Mr.  Baring-Gould,  who  has  a  keen  eye  for  eccentric 
antiquity,  points  out  the  resemblance  between  this 
early  building  and  the  low  western  ante-chapel  at 
the  abbey-church  of  St.  Fronto,  Perigueux.  Both 
represent  the  original  early  Christian  church,  he 
says,  built  on  these  sites.  If  this  be  so,  then 
Gwynllyw  probably  lies  here,  under  the  floor  of 
St.  Mary's  Chapel. 

As  you  look  over  the  Sea  of  Severn  and  the 
great  seaport  from  Stow  Hill,  you  have  several 
sea  tales  to  call  to  mind  which  belong  to  the 
scene — one  of  them  to  the  very  church  itself.  In 
early  days  the  Severn  Sea  was  a  notorious  pirates' 
run.  The  Danish  raiders  often  brought  their  boats 
into  the  Usk,  and  you  have  heard  how  they  mur- 
dered St.  Tecla  in  her  islet  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Wye.  An  old  Danish  ship  was  found  here  in  1878, 
when  the  Alexandra  Dock  was  being  enlarged. 
It  lies  in.  the  town  Museum  now.  It  was  some 
seventy  feet  long  and,  at  its  full  beam,  twenty  feet 
wide.  What  became  of  the  crew  ?  To  answer  this 
you  must  turn  to  the  saga  of  the  Orcadians,  the 
sacrilegious  Welsh  King  of  the  North,  and  the 


NEWPORT  37 

Holy  Gwynllyw,  who  became  the  Terrible  Rider 
of  the  Elements. 

Griffith,  King  of  the  North,  driven  by  war  from 
his  own  land,  and  fearing  his  enemies  (whom 
William,  the  old  King  of  the  English,  subdued), 
sailed  to  the  Orcades.  There,  bent  on  revenge 
and  piracy,  he  got  the  Orcadians  to  join  him 
and  descend  on  the  coasts  of  Britain.  Twenty- 
four  large  warships  made  their  fleet,  with  which 
they  sailed  through  the  Irish  Sea,  and  at  length 
made  their  way  into  the  Sea  of  Severn.  There 
they  landed  at  the  mouth  of  the  Usk,  and,  armed 
with  lances  and  axes,  ravaged  and  spoiled  the 
country.  These  wicked  raiders  spied  as  they  went 
the  church  of  St.  Woollos,  which  had  been  locked 
for  protection  against  their  thieving  hands.  But 
they  broke  it  open,  and  stole  the  precious  vessels 
that  were  there  and  carried  them  off  to  their  ships, 
and  so  to  the  Isle  of  Barry.  There,  however, 
grievous  trouble  and  great  sorrow  began  to  gather 
over  them,  and  they  were  driven  to  embark  and 
hoist  sail  for  the  Orcades. 

But  terror  of  judgment !  no  sooner  were  they 
at  sea  than  they  saw  a  tremendous  figure,  a  terrible 
horseman  riding  in  the  sky,  riding  after  them 
night  and  day,  pursuing  them  wherever  they 
turned  without  cease.  That  giant  Horseman  of 
the  Elements,  who  could  he  be  ?  He  was  the  holy 
Gwynllyw,  who  was  sent  from  heaven  to  overtake 
and  punish  them  in  their  sins.  Their  vessels'  sails 
were  torn  by  the  raging  violence  of  the  winds ; 
nor  by  their  oars  could  they  make  headway,  while 
their  compass  was  broken,  and  the  sailors  cried, 
"  Evil  is  our  shipmate,  we  fight  Powers  immortal 
and  beyond  us ;  the  fighting  of  mortal  man  is 
vain ! " 


38  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

With  that  the  vessels  were  driven  on  the  rocks, 
and  all  save  two  were  wrecked  and  broken  in 
pieces  ;  and  even  the  men  that  might  have  been 
saved  in  a  frenzy  rushed  against  and  destroyed 
one  another.  Only  two  ships  were  saved ;  and 
these  were  King  Griffith's,  who  would  not  partake 
of  the  robbery  or  enter  the  church  ;  and  he  it  was 
who,  when  he  had  made  peace  with  King  William, 
told  him  how  the  Holy  Gwynllyw  had  come  from 
heaven  to  avenge  the  desecration  of  his  church  by 
the  fierce  pirates  of  the  Orcades. 

The  more  one  thinks  of  this  legend  the  stranger 
it  grows ;  but  the  part  in  it  of  King  Griffith  is 
rather  sinister.  He  lured  on  the  Orcadians  to 
their  doom,  but  he  escaped.  He  was  their  Ate. 

One  more  story  of  St.  Woollos's,  and  we  are 
done.  It  is  important,  because  it  shows  the  real 
cause  of  the  defeat  of  Harold  at  the  battle  of 
Hastings.  It  appears  that  in  Earl  Harold's  time 
ship's  toll  was  paid  by  ships  lying  in  the  mouth 
of  the  Usk.  But  one  day  a  Saxon  trading-vessel 
came  to  port,  and  refused  to  pay ;  and  Rogut  (a 
grandson  of  King  Griffith)  thereupon  cut  its 
anchor-cable,  and  carried  off  the  anchor  to  St. 
Woollos's  Church.  But  the  sailors  complained  to 
Earl  Harold,  and  he,  moved  with  great  anger, 
began  to  lay  waste  all  the  country  of  Wentloog. 
The  Gweiitians  carried  their  goods  and  country 
produce — corn  and  meat  and  cheese — to  the  church ; 
but  the  greedy  wolves  broke  in  there  and,  without 
seeing  the  lost  anchor,  began  to  steal  all  they 
could  lay  hands  on.  Then  to  satisfy  their  hunger 
they  cut  into  the  cheeses  brought  by  the  country- 
folk; but  behold,  the  cheeses  were  all  red  and 
bloody  inside  !  Harold's  men,  horrified  at  this 
sight,  began  hastily  to  restore  all  they  had  stolen  ; 


NEWPORT  39 

and  Earl  Harold  himself,  pricked  with  compunc- 
tion, made  an  offering  on  the  altar,  and  promised 
he  would  never  more  violate  that  blessed  sanctu- 
ary. But  all  in  vain;  for  it  befell  that  in  the 
following  month  Harold  was  slain  at  the  battle 
of  Hastings  by  William  of  Normandy  for  this  and 
his  other  sins  and  wickednesses. 

While  you  are  on  Stow  Hill  you  may  recall  the 
strange  hubbub  that  used  to  be  heard  there  at 
Stow  Fair,  up  to  the  year  1870.  Hogarth  alone 
could  do  justice  to  the  scenes  that  used  to  startle 
the  Fair-field  and  surround  the  Bull  Inn  and  the 
old  Six  Bells  Inn  and  even  the  churchyard  of  St. 
Woollos's,  in  the  palmy  days  when  thousands  of 
miners  and  ironworkers  came  in  from  the  mining 
valleys.  Almost  every  whitewashed  cottage  on 
Stow  Hill  had  its  two  or  three  barrels  of  beer  at 
its  door  to  supply  the  extraordinary  thirst  of  the 
droughty  ironworkers  and  other  folk  on  this  gaudy 
day ;  and  next  morning,  it  is  said,  the  fields  were 
sown  with  strange  and  unhappy  objects — the  men 
who  had  been  sleeping  off  their  debauch.  Yes,  only 
Hogarth  or  the  author  of  "  The  Sleeping  Bard " 
could  describe  the  drinking  carnival  of  Stow  Hill 
as  it  used  to  be  seen. 

A  Welsh  Hogarth,  too,  could  best  draft  for  us 
another  riotous  spectacle  of  the  period  :  the 
Chartist  march  on  the  town  on  the  4th  of  Novem- 
ber, 1839.  It  seems  as  if  the  old  tradition  that 
made  the  Castle  below  and  St.  Woollos's  above 
fighting  landmarks  were  being  maintained.  The 
mayor  faced  the  rioters  and  read  the  Riot  Act 
from  the  windows  of  the  Westgate  Hotel,  in  whose 
wainscot  bullet-marks  may  still  be  seen.  The 
rioters  were  themselves  led  by  a  quondam  magis- 
trate, John  Frost,  who  had  himself  been  four  times 


40  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

mayor  of  Newport.  He  was  a  man  of  eccentric 
and  combative  temper,  who  had  been  struck  off 
the  justices'  roll  by  Lord  John  Russell  because  of 
his  noisy  opinions  and  irrepressible  Radicalism. 
He  was  not  unlike  some  of  the  early  chiefs  of 
Gwent,  who  were  always  at  war ;  for  he  was  tire- 
less in  opposition.  But  while  they  sometimes,  like 
Gwynllyw,  grew  pious  and  became  hermits  and 
saints,  when  the  energies  of  youth  gave  out,  Jack 
Frost  never  suffered  his  mind  to  thaw.  Possibly 
he  did  not  manage  his  riot  very  well :  he  did  little, 
it  is  certain,  to  save  his  men  from  panic  when 
the  word  was  given  and  the  soldiers  fired  from 
the  windows  of  the  Westgate  Hotel.  He  and 
two  other  leaders  were  sentenced  to  death,  and 
then  reprieved  and  transported,  for  their  part  in 
the  affair.  Fifteen  years  later  they  were  pardoned, 
and  Frost  returned  home  a  septuagenarian,  and 
lived  twenty-three  years  more,  his  zeal  for  reform 
as  keen  as  ever,  to  die  in  1877.  There  is  all  the 
material  of  grotesque  romance  in  his  long  and 
chequered  tale,  from  the  days  when  he  was  a  draper 
with  a  taste  for  battle  and  a  town  mayor  to  his 
march  on  Newport,  his  death-sentence  and  trans- 
portation, and  his  return  safe  home  to  an  unabated 
old  age.  He  had  every  wish  to  be  a  popular  hero, 
and,  most  significant  fact,  he  lived  to  see  every  one 
of  the  popular  reforms  he  had  fought  for  carried 
out. 

There  are  still  a  few  notable  shy  spots  near 
Newport  worth  discovering,  though  the  guide- 
books avoid  them.  The  other-self  of  a  country  is 
often  to  be  surprised  in  these  overgrown  haunts, 
one  of  which  asks  for  a  page  or  more  here  at 
the  end  of  the  chapter.  It  is  one  that  calls  up 
the  figure  of  Dafydd  ab  Gwilym,  the  Poet  of  the 


NEWPORT  41 

Leaves,  a  fourteenth- century  Welsh  Minnesinger 
who  was,  all  told,  the  most  exquisite  rhymer  and 
the  most  imaginative  Wales  has  had.  The  whole 
country  was  his ;  he  roamed  its  leagues  of  forest, 
a  blessed  vagabond,  and  knew  it  from  end  to  end. 
But  in  this  country  the  base  of  his  journeys  was 
always  the  house  at  Gwern-y-Cleppa,  near  Maes- 
Aleg,  now  called  Bassaleg — the  house  of  Ivor  Hael 
or  Ivor  the  Generous. 

It  was  one  very  sultry  August  afternoon  when 
I  set  off  to  find  the  place  in  the  wood  where  stood 
the  ancient  mansion  of  Ivor  Hael.  Beyond  Bassa- 
leg Station  the  dirt  and  smoke  and  grimy  disorder 
of  the  colliery  village  made  the  heat  thrice  intoler- 
able ;  but  once  the  bridge  over  the  river  Ebwy  was 
crossed  I  began  to  recover  with  an  effort  the  lines 
of  the  fair  green  countryside  that  Dafydd  knew. 
A  by-road  led  me  past  a  small  farm,  Fynnon  Oer 
(Cold  Well)  to  a  field-path  that  skirted  a  wooded 
hill.  With  that  hill  for  a  shield  from  the  outer 
world  it  was  possible  to  believe  in  Ivor  Hael. 
Across  a  broad  dip  and  long  meadow  lay  a  wood, 
Gwern-y-Cleppa.  There  used  to  stand  Ivor's 
vanished  mansion,  above  which  the  air  should 
still  be  stained  with  bands  of  firelight  and  more 
iridescent  gleams  than  commonly  fall  through  the 
trees  of  a  wood. 

One  unlucky  detour  on  the  way  led  to  an  opening 
where  a  dead  bullock  had  been  dumped  for  the 
hounds  or  young  pheasants  of  Ivor's  successor. 
This  made  me  hastily  invoke  the  fine  spirit  of 
invective  that  Dafydd  had  always  at  hand  where- 
with to  relieve  himself  in  his  predicaments. 
Happily  the  exact  site,  which  I  had  overshot,  was  a 
breathing  distance  away.  Standing  on  one  of  the 
foundation- walls,  which  Ivor's  descendant,  Lord 


42  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Tredegar,  had  recently  unearthed,  and,  looking 
around,  I  found  it  possible  to  imagine  away  the 
later  undergrowth  and  detect  the  actual  lines  of 
the  close,  the  long,  low  house  with  its  end-gables 
and  blunt-thatched  roof,  and  the  green  pleasaunce 
about  it.  To  adapt  some  lines  of  Dafydd's,  de- 
scribing another  house  in  another  wood,  far  from 
here,  where  he  and  his  love  Morfudd  used  to  meet : — 

"And  I  the  man  or  woodman  who 
Must  walk  the  wood,  and  watch,  and  through 
The  small-leav'd  trees  look  as  I  pace 
To  spy  the  roof  there  break  the  space, — 
A  palace  pack'd  within  a  croft, 
With  green  leaves  for  an  organ  loft : 
Song's  House,  whose  eaves  no  painter  could 
Ever  have  painted,  none  but  God." 

In  Ivor's  house,  said  Dafydd,  he  was  always  sure 
of  a  welcome.  The  grace-cup  was  waiting  to 
receive  him  at  the  door ;  his  glove  was  filled  with 
gold  as  he  went  away. 

He  was  once  rallied  by  a  follower  of  Sir  Peter  le 
Sore,  who  said  the  bottom  of  one  of  Sir  Peter's 
cups  was  worth  all  the  cups  in  Ivor's  house.  To 
which  Dafydd  answered,  "  That  the  bottom  of  a 
cup  might  be  valued  in  Sir  Peter's  house,  but  not 
in  Ivor's,  since  the  bottom  of  a  cup  was  never 
seen  there"  for  the  exhaustless  wine  within  it. 
Indeed,  in  more  than  one  of  his  lyric  odes  Dafydd 
harps  upon  the  "  medd  a  gwin  " — mead  and  wine — 
at  Maesaleg,  and  he  talks  of  Ivor  as  Father-of -all- 
Cheer.  There  is  a  song  of  parting,  written  when 
he  was  going  on  his  Trouveur's  journey  to  the 
north — one  of  those  bardic  circuits  which  the  Welsh 
called  "  Clera  " — whose  rhymes  are  Ivor's  joyous 
apotheosis.  They  are  partly  conceived  in  the  tradi- 


NEWPORT  43 

tional  "  high-f alutin "  mode  of  the  Welsh  family 
bard  who  sings  the  eulogy  of  his  Maecenas  ;  but  we 
discern  at  once  in  them,  too,  the  note,  breaking  con- 
vention, of  the  original  poet  who  used  tradition 
or  dropped  it  at  will,  and  saw  with  his  own  eyes, 
and  made  his  harp-strings  out  of  his  own  Welsh 
sinews. 

At  Gwern-y-Cleppa,  says  Dafydd,  he  was  like  one 
of  the  three  free  fortunate  guests  at  the  court  of 
King  Arthur  ("Tri  thryddedog  ac  anfoddog  Llys 
Arthur").  During  the  third  quarter  of  the  four- 
teenth century  Ivor  was  in  his  flourish,  and  held 
his  court  here  in  the  great  old  Welsh  fashion. 
He  and  his  wife  Nest  died  of  the  plague  about 
1368,  and  the  fatal  news  reached  Dafydd  as  he 
travelled  from  the  north  to  Llanbadarn  in  Cardi- 
ganshire, where  his  own  house  was. 

A  passage  or  so  from  his  odes,  written  in  the 
fluid  four-footed  couplets  he  preferred — a  form 
that,  Welsh  as  it  is,  relates  him  to  the  whole  poetic 
mode  of  Europe  at  that  time — must  serve  here  as  a 
taste  of  his  art.  He  is  very  fond  of  writing  colour- 
odes,  ranged  in  one  colour,  as,  for  instance,  among 
his  white  poems,  a  Swan-ode,  a  Snow-ode,  a  Haw- 
thorn-ode ;  or,  among  his  yellow,  a  Broom-song,  or 
a  song  of  his  golden-haired  beloved  Morfudd.  Take 
this  foretaste  as  a  Study  in  Gold,  some  lines  of 
which  he  used  twice  over  in  separate  poems  with- 
out any  hesitation.  He  is  describing  Morfudd's 
hair,  whose  "  wine-bright  laughing  mouth "  and 
whose  cheeks,  red  as  the  Rose  or  the  Rosy  Cross, 
were  his  delight : — 

"Ami  o  eurlliw,  mal  iarlles, 
Gerllaw  y  tal,  gorlliw  tes ; 
Ac  uwch  ei  deurudd  rhyddawr 
Dwybleth  fal  y  dabl  o  aur." 


44  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Largesse  of  gold  he  wants  to  impress  on  you  in 
this  lyric  picture  :  "  Gold-colour,  repeated  over  and 
over,  like  a  countess's,  about  the  forehead,  with 
the  high  colour  of  sunshine  ;  and  above  the  two 
cheeks,  red-gold — two  broad  plaits  like  the  Golden 
Tables' :  For  the  unbraiding  of  them,  long  it  might 
take ; — such  gold  braids  I  have  seen  her  let  fall, 
like  the  wings  of  a  yellow  Archangel  drooping 
upon  white  snow.  Shoots,  say  of  one  stem  ;  coils 
of  one  colour  ;  a  grove  of  yellow  broom  above  the 
face ;  ay,  gold-jewels  like  them  in  the  shops  of 
Chepe." 

You  get  in  this  a  suggestion  of  the  true 
poetic  ecstasy  of  the  creature.  The  shops  of  Cheap- 
side,  too,  had  touched  his  errant  fancy ;  he  often 
returns  to  them,  indeed,  in  his  odes,  and  makes  one 
think  of  the  "  Golden  Cheapside "  that  Herrick 
knew  centuries  later.  Probably  the  Welsh  poet, 
too,  had  made  one  visit  to  London  in  Ivor's  train, 
or  in  that  of  some  Autolycus  of  the  shires  and 
"  hundreds." 

As  you  pass  again  through  Newport  streets  you 
can  stop  before  a  jeweller's  window  in  the  High 
Street  if  you  will,  realising  that  a  far  greater  town 
than  the  London  of  Dafydd's  time  has  sprung  up 
within  a  league  of  Ivor's  house  at  Maesaleg. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CAERLEON-ON-USK — THE  OLD  CITY  OF  LEGIONS — 
ECHOES  OF  THE  "  MOBTE  D' ARTHUR" — ROMAN 
LADIES  AND  BRITISH  PRINCES. 

"Both  Athens,  Theabes,  and  Carthage  too, 

We  hold  of  great  renown, 
What  then,  I  pray  you,  shall  we  do 
To  poor  Oaerleon  towne." 

CHURCHY  ABD. 

You  may  not  think  of  Caerleon  at  once  as  a 
shipping-place ;  but  it  was  once,  in  the  day  of 
small  ships,  a  well-known  Severn  Sea  port.  It 
was  the  old  port  of  Usk,  as  its  neighbour  three 
miles  nearer  the  mouth  of  the  river  was  the  New- 
port. One  reason  for  having  a  shipping-quay 
farther  from  the  river-mouth  may  have  been  be- 
cause it  was  safer  from  Severn  pirates.  And,  after 
all,  it  is  not  so  far  inland  as  are  many  famous 
ports  to-day — the  other  Newcastle,  for  instance. 
We  reached  and  crossed  the  bridge  late  one 
September  evening,  having,  on  the  road  out  of 
Newport,  passed  St.  Julian's  in  the  dark  without 
realising  it.  A  light  drizzle  was  falling,  and  the 
town  was  like  a  deserted  place,  whose  darkness 
was  but  made  more  apparent  by  the  few  street- 
lamps  and  a  dimly  lit  shop-window.  It  might 

45 


46  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

have  been  a  benighted  town  of  the  Middle  Ages ; 
and  I  think  we  were  not  altogether  sorry  for  the 
illusion. 

Having  found  quarters  at  our  appointed  hostelry, 
we  sallied  out,  while  a  simple  mediaeval  supper  of 
ham-collops  and  eggs  was  preparing,  for  further 
exploration.  Across  the  street  a  very  dim  paraffin- 
lamp  burned  in  a  shop- window.  Out  of  curiosity 
we  gazed  in,  and  saw  faded  jam-tarts  there  of  an 
unnatural  pallor  and  antiquity,  and  some  slate- 
pencils.  In  such  a  shop,  precisely,  gazed  the  Roman 
boys  long  ago,  save  that  there  were  no  dulled 
panes  of  glass  between.  We  resumed  our  wander- 
ings, and  saw  another  light,  far  away,  which 
proved  to  be  a  wooden  lamp-post — old,  and  even 
immensely  old ;  older  than  Lucius,  older  than 
Severus  and  his  two  sons,  older  than  Merlin  and 
Arthur. 

We  dimly  made  out  at  the  south-east  side  of  the 
town  what  we  took  for  the  mound  of  the  Castle, 
where  the  Norman  keep  had  stood,  and  it  recalled 
how  the  boy-king  Arthur  came  out  of  his  tower, 
and  "  under  his  gown  a  jesseraunt  of  double  mail" ; 
when  King  Lot  had  laughed  at  him  and  called 
Merlin  a  witch;  and  how  a  battle  was  fought 
between  Arthur  and  the  kings  of  Garloth  and 
Gower. 

"  What  will  ye  do  ?  "  said  Merlin  to  them.  "  Ye 
were  better  for  to  stint.  Ye  shall  not  here  prevail, 
though  ye  were  ten  so  many." 

"Be  we  well  advised  to  be  afraid  of  a  dream- 
reader  ?  "  said  King  Lot. 

With  that  Merlin  vanished  away.  You  may 
continue  the  tale  in  the  Morte  D1  Arthur. 

It  was  in  Caerleon,  too,  that  Arthur  held  his 
Whitsuntide  feast,  "  in  the  most  royalest  wise  that 


CAERLEON-ON-USK  47 

might  be,  like  as  he  did  yearly,"  when,  according 

to  the  famous  old  king's  custom,  he  refused  to  eat 

till  some  portent  or  strange   adventure   came   to 

light ;  and  the  predestined   mysterious  damsel  of 

romance    entered,    and     after    her    Gawain    and 

Launcelot  and  Beaumains.     And  it  was  to  Caer- 

leon   that   disturbing  letters    came,   addressed   to 

Arthur  and  Gwenevere  and  Launcelot — all  from 

King  Mark  ;    and  King  Arthur  "  mused  of  many 

things " ;    and   Sir  Launcelot   was   so  wroth   that 

"  he  laid  him  down  on  his  bed  to  sleep,"  the  letter 

in  his  hand  ;  and  Dinadan  "  stole  the  letter  out  of 

his   hand,  and   read   it  word  by  word,"  and  as  a 

consequence    made   his    lay    of    King   Mark,   and 

taught  it  to  one  harper,  who   taught  it  in  turn 

to   many  harpers,  who   went   singing   it  through 

Wales  and  Cornwall,  "  which   was   the  worst  lay 

that  ever  harper  sang  with  harp  or  with  any  other 

instruments." 

Next  morning  we  rose  from  bed,  I  remember, 
with  a  sense  of  being  unequal  to  our  antique 
opportunity.  Looking  out  of  window,  I  saw  a 
milk-cart  driving  by ;  it  was  built  in  the  precise 
model  of  an  old  British  chariot.  The  rain,  too, 
was  falling  in  a  traditional  British  way.  Luckily 
we  had  the  Museum  as  a  resource. 

A  little  more  and  Caerleon  Museum,  which  looks 
externally  like  the  toy  model  of  a  classic  temple, 
might  have  been  a  perfect  village  monument.  As 
it  is,  one  does  not  find  it  easy  on  a  wet  morning 
to  rekindle  any  Roman  warmth  in  its  cold  stones, 
or  set  free  the  rustling  garments  of  a  Caesaria,  or 
picture  the  wife  of  Cornelius  Castus,  with  her  old 
silver  brooch  clasping  the  kerchief  about  her  neck 
and  silver  bracelets  on  her  folded  arms.  But  the 
thought  of  that  poor  child,  Julia  Iverna,  who  died 


48  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

at  sixteen  and  was  buried  at  Bulmore,  and  whose 
mother  must  have  loved  her  very  dearly,  presently 
opens  this  house  of  the  dead.  The  ornaments  of 
both  of  them  are  there ;  and  some  of  the  inscrip- 
tions that  recall  them,  and  some  of  the  flakes  and 
remnants  whose  shining  may  have  helped  to  dazzle 
the  eyes  of  the  early  Welsh  romancists,  a  Geoffrey 
or  a  Gerald,  are  there  too.  What  is  very  attractive 
to  our  eyes  is  the  way  in  which  flakes  and  bits 
of  mediaeval  glass  and  small  metal  ornaments  of 
Gerald's  time — the  twelfth  century — are  mixed  with 
those  of  the  day  when  Tacitus  wrote.  This  is  the 
great  secret  which  Caerleon  keeps  close.  It  has 
mixed  its  memories,  like  its  relics  ;  and  when  for 
the  twentieth  time  you  are  trying  to  separate  the 
Roman  soldiers  from  Arthur's  men,  and  the  Roman 
lines  from  the  later  walls  and  castellated  defences 
added  by  a  Llewelyn  whose  gryphon  (on  a  bit  of 
glass)  is  still  to  be  seen,  you  suddenly  realise  that 
Arthurian  tradition  was  partly  grown  on  a  Romf  n 
wall,  and  has  kept  the  faint  aroma  of  a  thousand 
classical  associations. 

It  was  the  second  Legion  that  lay  at  Caerleon ; 
and  here,  in  the  time  of  Claudius  under  Vespasian, 
its  headquarters  were  maintained  while  its  men 
fought  and  built,  went  off  to  the  north  in  detach- 
ments, to  help  in  the  road-building  and  raising  of 
the  walls  and  forts  of  the  North  Tyne  and  Border 
country.  Not  only  that ;  but  they  were  the  chief 
builders  of  the  great  sea-walls  raised  to  protect 
the  Level  of  Caldecot  and  the  Level  of  Gwynllwg 
(Wentloog)  from  the  Severn  Sea.  The  busts  or 
statues  of  a  line  of  famous  generals,  and  one  or 
two  emperors,  would  have  to  be  set  round  the 
walls  of  Caerleon  Museum,  like  those  in  the  cor- 
ridor of  emperors  at  the  British  Museum,  if  we 


CAERLEON-ON-USK  49 

were  to  rally  to  our  aid  all  the  contributors  to  the 
fame  of  the  City  of  Legions.  Yes,  Agricola,  and 
Severus,  and  Caracalla,  and  Geta,  and  Suetonius, 
and  Constantino — who  left  Britain  not  so  long 
before  the  supposed  advent  of  Arthur. 

When  you  recall  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's 
blazoned  triumph  of  King  Arthur  in  the  City  of 
Legions,  you  see  clearly  how  Roman  were  its 
features :  Roman,  viewed  at  the  end  of  an  early 
mediaeval  vista,  like  a  marble  colonnade  seen 
through  stained  glass.  Geoffrey  tells  us  how 
Arthur,  after  a  series  of  Roman  triumphs — not 
unlike  Caesar's  own — after  campaigns  in  Norway, 
Dacia,  Aquitania,  Gaul,  after  holding  court  at 
Paris,  decides  to  hold  a  solemn  thanksgiving, 
and  pitches  upon  the  City  of  Legions  for  that 
purpose. 

"  Upon  the  approach  of  the  feast  of  Pentecost, 
Arthur,"  says  Geoffrey,  "  resolved  to  hold  a  mag- 
nificent court,  to  place  the  crown  upon  his  head, 
and  to  invite  all  the  kings  and  dukes  subject  to 
him  to  that  solemnity.  And  he  pitched  upon  the 
City  of  Legions  as  a  fit  place  wherein  to  hold  it ; 
for  besides  its  wealth,  great  beyond  that  of  other 
cities,  its  site  upon  the  river  Usk,  near  the  Severn 
Sea,  was  most  pleasant  and  fit  for  so  high  a 
solemnity.  On  one  side  it  was  washed  by  that 
noble  river,  so  that  those  kings  and  princes  who 
came  from  beyond  the  seas  might  readily  sail  up 
to  the  city.  On  the  other  side,  the  beauty  of  the 
groves  and  meadows,  and  the  magnificence  of  the 
royal  palaces  with  high  gilded  roofs  adorning  it, 
made  it  rival  even  the  grandeur  of  Rome." 

And  it  had,  continues  Geoffrey,  two  churches, 
one  dedicated  to  the  martyr  Julius,  and  adorned 
by  a  choir  of  virgins,  while  the  other,  dedicated  to 

4 


50  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

St.  Aaron,  was  the  third  church  metropolitan  of 
Britain.  Besides,  there  was  a  college  of  two 
hundred  wise  men  and  astronomers,  who  could 
tell  Arthur  by  the  stars  what  events  were  to 
happen  at  that  time. 

To  Caerleon  came,  among  the  kings,  Sater,  King 
of  Dyved,  Cador,  King  of  Cornwall,  Cadwaladon, 
King  of  North  Wales,  Augusel  (Angus  ?),  King  of 
Scotland,  Urien,  King  of  "  Mureif."  The  three 
Archbishops  of  York,  and  London,  and  Caerleon 
(observe  the  equation  of  the  last  with  the  two 
first  metropolitan  sees)  attended,  too,  in  state. 
The  last  of  the  three  arch-prelates  was  Dubricius, 
otherwise  Dyvrig  the  Golden  Tongued. 

The  present  parish  church  of  Caerleon  is  dedi- 
cated to  Cadoc,  for  Llangattoek  is  the  parish  in 
which  the  City  of  Legions  stands.  Its  eccle- 
siastical tradition  waxed  and  grew  with  its 
Arthurian  myths.  If  it  was  a  king's  capital — 
why  not  an  archbishop's  seat  ?  Dyvrig,  and 
Cadoc,  and  David  lend  it  their  associations,  and 
they  build  up  its  House  of  Fame,  and  bring  tradi- 
tion to  the  point  where  the  Church  was  able  to 
perpetuate  it,  and  delicately  idealise  it,  and  join  a 
Constantine  legend  to  an  Arthur  legend,  and  put 
a  halo  about  a  Roman  helmet ;  and  magnify  a 
simple  hermit  in  his  cave  to  the  seventh  dimen- 
sion, till  he  towers,  a  prince,  a  primate  of  his 
Church. 

Wonderful  Caerleon,  that  can  lift  heroes,  like 
pieces  of  ivory,  from  its  dust !  Arthur  and  Seve- 
rus,  Gwenevere  and  Csesaria  and  Julia  Iverna, 
Cadoc  and  David  :  they  are  the  personages  of 
its  story. 

To  recall  the  Roman  Isca  Silurum,  you  ought  to 
climb  Christchurch  Hill  and  look  back  from  the 


CAERLEON-ON-USK  51 

road  as  it  nears  the  village.  Then,  imagine  an 
extent  of  marsh-lands  and  tidal  "  rhines  "  (as  they 
are  called  on  either  side  of  the  Severn  Sea)  all 
about  the  City  of  Legions,  and  the  city  itself, 
square,  very  definite,  very  compact,  raised  on  higher 
ground ;  with  four  straight  roads  approaching  its 
four  gates,  south,  east,  west,  and  north.  At  the  south 
gate  the  approach  is  by  a  twenty-two  feet  wide 
trestle-built  bridge.  The  same  bridge  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  patched  from  time  to  time,  lasted 
on  to  modern  times ;  lasted  long  enough  for  the 
Normans  to  build  new  defences  at  either  end  in 
the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  and  for  some 
of  the  Chartists  to  cross  it  on  their  way  to  New- 
port in  1839,  and  for  Tennyson  to  walk  over 
it  in  1856.  It  was  finally  demolished  about  fifty 
years  ago. 

You  can  better  picture  the  splendour  of  the 
place  when  you  remember  that  it  was  one  of  the 
three  great  Roman  centres  in  Britain.  You  can 
see  the  streets,  the  people,  the  officers'  wives, 
the  soldiers  ;  here,  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  are 
the  houses,  most  of  them  either  one-storied  or 
having  a  lower  storey  of  stone  and  an  upper  of 
timber,  with  timbered  and  shingled  roofs.  In 
the  Forum,  or  market-building,  there  are  steps 
and  a  colonnade ;  and  on  the  steps  are  beggars, 
British  market-women,  and  a  Roman  lady  chaffer- 
ing with  one  of  them  for  a  basket  of  apples  or  a 
jar  of  honey,  a  couple  of  barley-cakes  or  a  brace 
of  wild  duck.  One  amphitheatre  we  trace  by  the 
oval  called  King  Arthur's  table ;  and  of  other 
extra-mural  adjuncts  we  know  there  was  one 
burial-place  at  Bulmore  and  another  two  miles 
further  away.  And  within  the  walls  are  baths, 
cool  porticoes,  a  couple  of  temples  ;  and  perhaps  a 


52  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

corner  of  the  city  where,  as  time  went  on,  a  couple 
of  marble  and  stone  arches  and  a  column  arose 
to  mark  some  of  the  Roman  triumphs  in  Britain. 
Every  fragment  you  have  in  Caerleon  Museum 
represents  a  whole.  A  single  Roman  brick,  and 
Caerleon  is  rebuilt.  You  can  still  see  Roman 
figures  and  Welsh  knights  pass  in  the  town  as 
you  look  back  from  Christchurch  Hill — forms  that 
seem  to  appear  for  a  moment  at  the  end  of  the 
street  and  then  to  disappear  like  a  mirage.  The 
recent  excavations  by  the  Roman  surveyors  have 
made  the  actual  details  of  the  place  clear  as 
Pompeii's. 

According  to  Donovan  in  his  tour  of  1801, 
there  was  a  Caerleon  tradition  that  Arthur 
and  his  knights  disappeared  into  the  old  amphi- 
theatre. 

"  And  here,"  says  Donovan,  "  we  were  assured 
with  the  utmost  gravity  that  in  some  evil  hour 
of  enchantment  Arthur  and  two  thousand  of  his 
valiant  knights  sunk  into  the  abyss  of  the  earth, 
in  the  midst  of  their  jovial  feasting  " ;  that  is,  at 
the  celebration  of  some  gala  day  of  the  Round 
Table.  It  is  added  that  Arthur  himself  was  spirited 
away  to  Faerie ;  and  so  we  have  another  of  the 
many  local  legends  of  "  Arthur's  Sleep,"  asso- 
ciated also  with  Craig-y-Dinas,  in  the  Vale  of 
Neath,  with  a  spot  in  the  Black  Mountains,  near 
Gwynfe,  with  a  mountain  in  the  Bala  region  of 
North  Wales,  with  a  well  at  Cadbury  (Camelot) 
in  Somerset,  and  many  other  places. 

"  He  is  a  king  crowned  in  Faerie,"  says  Lydgate, 
and  shall  yet  resort — 

"...  our  Lord  and  sovereigne, 
Out  of  Faerie  and  reigne  in  Brittaine." 


CAERLEON-ON-USK  53 

Any  one  who  cares  can  go  on  pilgrimage  to  the 
city  and  evoke  its  ghostly  king.  "  The  Usk  mur- 
murs by  the  windows,  and  I  sit  like  King  Arthur 
in  Caerleon,"  says  Tennyson,  writing  from  the 
queer  old  riverside  inn,  "  The  Hanbury  Arms," 
in  September,  1856.  There  have  been  some 
changes  in  what  the  natives  call  "  Kerleeii " 
since  then,  but  its  Arthurian  tradition  has  not 
grown  less. 


CHAPTER  V 

FROM  THE  USK  TO  THE  TAFF — THE  WENTLOOO 
LEVEL — RHYMNEY — FREEMAN  THE  HISTORIAN 
— AN  OLD  ROMANCE  ROAD  AND  A  PAGE  FROM 
THE  "  MABINOGION  " 

THE  Severn  Sea  Flats  between  Newport  and 
Cardiff  make  a  no-man's  land,  a  neglected 
district,  commonly  travelled  only  by  plain  folk, 
hawkers,  bakers,  and  the  like,  who  have  busi- 
ness to  do.  At  points  it  will  remind  you,  if  you 
know  the  east  coast,  of  Canvey  Island  or  parts  of 
Mersea.  The  way  to  take  it  is  to  expect  a  melan- 
choly region;  and  then  the  "rhines"  and  reedy 
fields  and  long,  monotonous  roads  will  offer  enter- 
tainment. A  farmstead  once  a  priory,  a  neglected 
old  house  with  a  history,  a  whitewashed  cottage 
between  the  last  field  and  the  sea,  which  was  once 
drowned  out  in  the  great  flood,  or  a  flood-mark  on 
a  church  wall,  stir  the  conjectural  wits  of  the 
traveller.  The  sea-walls,  maintained  at  much 
cost  to  the  farmers,  show  the  risk  of  the  Severn 
Sea's  yet  recapturing  Wentloog.  This  was  why 
castles  were  few  along  this  extent  of  coast. 

The  old  lordship  of  Wentloog  stretched  from  the 
Usk  to  the  Rhyrnney,  and  from  the  Severn  to  a 
boundary-line  drawn  from  Llantarnam  to  Risca 
and  Michaelston-y-Fedw.  No  less  than  seventeen 
manors  were  parcelled  out  of  it. 

64 


FROM  THE  USK  TO  THE  TAFF         55 

Cox  mentions  in  the  last  of  these — that  is,  in  the 
level  of  Mendalgyf — one  of  the  several  Green 
Castles  that  exist  in  South  Wales  :  Castell  Glas, 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Ebwy,  near  the  confluence 
with  the  Usk.  This  is  the  same  "  seat "  that 
Churchyard  describes  : — 

"  A  goodly  seate,  a  tower,  a  princely  pyle 
Built  as  a  watch  or  saftie  for  the  soil 
By  river  stands,  from  Neawport  not  three  myle." 

Now  the  huge  enginery  of  the  docks,  far  higher 
than  any  old  castle,  starts  up  formidably  in  the 
scene.  Some  two  miles  west  of  Green  Castle 
lies  St.  Bride  Wentloog,  and  the  road  thence 
runs  a  flat  two  miles  further  to  Peterstone, 
whose  Welsh  name  is  Llanbad,  short  for 
Llanbedr,  the  church  of  Pedr  or  Peter. 

The  famous  flood-mark  at  St.  Bride's  makes 
you  realise  how  amphibious  life  used  to  be  in 
these  marshy  levels.  Their  most  tragic  tale  is 
the  "Great  Sea  Flood"  of  1606,  chronicled  in 
the  Harleian  Miscellany.  It  befell  on  Tuesday, 
the  20th  of  January,  and  most  idiomatically  the 
miscellanist  describes  it : — 

For,  about  nine  of  the  clock  in  the  morning,  the  same 
being  most  fayrely  and  brightly  spred,  many  of  the  in- 
habitants of  those  countreys  prepared  themselves  to  their 
affayres,  then  they  might  see  and  perceive  afar  off  as  it 
were  in  the  element  huge  and  mighty  hilles  of  water 
tombling  one  over  another  in  such  sort  as  if  the  greatest 
mountains  in  the  world  had  overwhelmed  the  low  villages 
and  marshy  grounds.  Sometimes  it  dazzled  many  of  the 
spectators  that  they  imagined  it  had  bin  some  fogge  or 
miste  coming  with  great  swiftness  towards  them  and  with 
such  a  smoke  as  if  mountains  were  all  on  fire,  and  to 
the  view  of  some  it  seemed  as  if  myllions  of  thousands  of 
arrows  had  been  shot  forthe  all  at  one  time. 


56  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

' '  So  violent  and  swif te  were  the  outrageous  waves,  that 
in  less  than  five  hours  space  most  part  of  those  Countreys 
(especially  the  places  that  laye  lowe)  were  all  overflown, 
and  many  hundreds  of  people,  both  men  and  women  and 
children,  were  there  quite  devoured  by  those  outrageous 
waters ;  nay,  more,  the  farmers  and  husbandmen  and 
shepheardes  might  behold  their  goodly  flockes  swimming 
upon  the  waters  dead." 

Many  kinds  of  marsh  and  water-birds,  large 
and  small,  are  seen  in  the  Wentloog  Level,  in- 
cluding herons,  grebe,  and  red  divers.  In  hard 
winters  (like  that  of  1890-1891)  the  bittern  and 
goosander  reappear.  But  the  wild  swans  and 
wild  geese  that  haunted  the  marshes  in  large  flocks 
ere  they  were  drained  are  pretty  well  all  gone. 

Originally  the  Rhymney  River  was  called 
Elarch  after  these  swans,  according  to  Coxe ; 
and  he  speaks  of  a  tradition  that  the  songs  of 
these  swans  could  be  heard  even  in  London.  It 
is  another  legend  of  the  solitude  crying  to  the 
town.  You  may  realise  it  even  to-day  by 
spending  an  evening  at  ebb-tide  on  the  coast 
anywhere  near  Peterston,  and  hearing  the 
waders  and  waterchicks  whistle  plaintively 
across  the  tidal  flats.  By  association  it  is  a 
mournful  sound,  suggesting  the  birds  bewitched 
that  were  once  children  of  men,  that  still  have 
human  voices :  the  birds  of  Rhianon,  the  child- 
ren of  Ler.  The  Celtic  swan  legends  reach  their 
superlative  with  the  going  of  Ler  to  Lake  Darva, 
where  he  is  told  that  his  children  have  been 
drowned. 

There  he  saw  four  swans  near  the  lake-side, 
and  heard  them  talking  like  children  together. 
When  they  saw  him,  they  came  out  of  the 
water,  and  looked  sorrowfully  at  him  with  their 


FROM  THE  USK  TO  THE  TAFF    57 

black  eyes  and  snake-like  heads.  They  told  him 
they  were  bewitched  by  their  step-mother  Seife, 
and  begged  him  to  break  the  spell.  But  it 
was  not  till  the  third  stage  of  their  existence, 
hundreds  of  years  afterwards,  when  they  were 
in  the  island  of  Glora,  that  the  spell  was 
broken.  They  had  a  friend  there,  the  Lonely 
Crane  of  Inniskea ;  and  there  St.  Caernhoc 
came  with  the  new  faith  and  they  were  baptized. 
Before  we  go  on  to  Cardiff,  we  ought  to  stop 
at  St.  Mellon's,  if  only  because  the  historian 
E.  A.  Freeman  for  some  years  resided  in  the 
parish,  at  Lanrhymney  Hall,  using  it  as  a 
working-centre  from  which  to  explore  and  map 
out  locally  the  history  and  mediaeval  antiquity 
of  South  Wales.  Many  delightfully  drawn  small 
sketches  of  churches  and  towers  and  other  old 
buildings  from  his  sketch-books  may  be  seen 
in  the  volumes  of  the  Cambrian  Archaeological 
Society,  for  which  he  laboured  tirelessly.  Of  his 
house,  Lanrumney  or  Llanrhymney,  he  tells  us 
that  it  was  once  attached  to  Keynsham  Abbey 
in  Somersetshire. 

"Parts  of  the  walls  are  of  a  thickness  which  may  be  of 
any  age,  but  the  earliest  architectural  features — for  which 
however  the  inquirer  must  do  me  the  honour  of  a  visit 
inside — are  of  the  time  of  Elizabeth.  We  have,  however, 
little  to  boast  of  beyond  a  respectable  ceiling  in  the 
ground-floor, — and  a  fine  chimney  piece  upstairs.  The 
latter  bears  date  1587,  and  is  adorned  with  an  elaborate 
shield  of  arms,  in  which,  being  no  great  herald,  I  thought 
I  recognised  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  at  any  rate 
Prance,  Castile,  and  Scotland ;  but  I  have  since  heard 
that  they  all  represent  different  bearings  of  the  family 
of  Morgan,  a  branch  of  whom  held  the  property  as  late 
as  the  eighteenth  century,  since  which  it  has  passed 
through  various  hands." 


58  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

He  rejoiced  unfeignedly  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Mellon's,  and  gave  it  among  all  the  churches  he 
had  seen  in  the  south-western  corner  of  Mon- 
mouthshire, forming  the  Deanery  of  Newport, 
the  first  place  : — 

"I  mean  of  course,"  he  adds,  "after  St.  Woolos.  There 
are  some  others  in  its  own  neighbourhood  which  contain 
finer  work,  but  it  certainly  surpasses  all  in  general 
dignity.  It  is  perhaps  less  strictly  designed  than  some 
others  after  a  special  Monmouthshire  type,  but  it  exhibits 
the  general  South  Welsh  type  on  a  considerable  scale, 
and  with  extreme  variety  and  picturesqueness  of  outline. 
In  fact,  like  Llandeilo  Bertholey  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  country,  its  outline  would  rather  have  suggested 
Pembrokeshire  as  its  locality  than  any  other  part  of 
Wales  or  of  Britain.  The  church  is  large  for  a  Welsh 
parish  church,  being  about  a  hundred  feet  long.  Indeed 
most  of  the  churches  immediately  round  it  are  of  con- 
siderable size.  Several  would,  I  imagine,  exceed  St. 
Mellon's  in  mere  length,  though  I  fancy  the  latter 
covers  altogether  the  greatest  amount  of  ground.  St. 
Mellon's  consists  of  a  long  and  broad  nave,  to  which  is 
attached  a  disproportionately  short  and  narrow  chancel. 
This  chancel  too  has  a  totally  different  radius  from  that 
of  the  nave,  the  south  walls  of  the  two  coinciding,  from 
which  it  follows  that  their  north  walls  are  very  far  from 
doing  so.  Again  attached  to  the  chancel,  is  a  sort  of 
transeptal  chapel  running  north.  The  result  is  that  the 
chancel  and  this  chapel  are  entered  from  the  nave  by  two 
arches,  side  by  side,  divided  by  a  pillar ;  the  southern 
arch,  which  leads  into  the  real  chancel,  is,  of  course,  very 
much  the  larger  of  the  two.  The  arrangement  is,  as  far 
as  I  am  aware,  unique ;  and  the  effect  is  singular — far 
more  singular,  I  may  add,  than  beautiful.  The  peculiarity 
lies  in  the  lopsided  appearance  of  the  chancel  thus  set  on 
one  side  the  nave,  and  in  the  two  unequal  arches,  side  by 
side.  A  nave  so  broad  as  to  take  in  both  the  choir  and 
its  aisles,  and  to  open  into  them  by  a  large  central  arch 
and  a  smaller  one  on  each  side,  is  a  perfectly  intelligible 


FROM  THE  USK  TO  THE  TAFF    59 

arrangement,  and  one  which  would  be  far  from  unique  in 
the  South  of  France.  At  Orthez,  for  instance,  in  the  Low 
Pyrenees,  it  occurs  on  a  large  scale.  There  are  also,  I 
believe,  some  similar  English  examples.  But  I  have  not 
seen  or  heard  of  any  example,  British  or  Continental, 
rivalling  the  special  eccentricity  of  St.  Mellon's.  The  first 
feeling  suggested  is  that  a  north  arcade  has  been  de- 
stroyed, which  certainly  has  not  been  the  case  since  the 
erection  of  the  present  church.  The  ground-plan  has 
clearly  not  been  altered  since  the  fourteenth  century." 

Freeman  had  Welsh  servants  at  Lanrhymney, 
and,  unlike  some  Welsh  parents,  was  pleased 
that  his  children  should  pick  up  some  words  of 
the  old  tongue.  Long  before  you  cross  the  western 
boundary-line  of  Monmouthshire  you  are  pretty 
sure,  if  you  keep  your  ears  open,  of  hearing  it 
spoken.  The  particular  dialect  of  Gwent  is 
called  after  it — "y  Wenhwyseg,"  and  it  is  dif- 
ferent enough  in  many  of  its  idioms  and 
pronunciations  from  the  Welsh  of  the  north 
and  west.  You  may  suppose  that  this  is  because 
Welsh  in  Monmouthshire  is  dying  out.  Not  at 
all.  Up  in  the  valleys,  like  the  poet  Islwyn's, 
at  Sirhowy  (where  I  remember  his  sister,  a 
farmer's  wife,  speaking  it  with  a  most  attrac- 
tive and  pure  accent)  and  in  all  the  western 
stretches  it  holds  its  own  ;  and  though  Caerleon 
has  no  Welsh,  Newport  town  prides  itself  upon 
it,  and  has  a  patriotic  society  and  a  devoted 
publisher  of  Welsh  books  in  Mr.  Southall,  an 
Englishman  who  has  learnt  the  tongue.  The 
small  colloquial  changes  are  many  and  easily 
detected.  Take  the  Welsh  for  'I  am,' — 
'  Ydwyf '  in  the  book,  '  Otw '  in  Gwentian 
speech,  which  points  to  a  tendency  all  through 
to  turn  « d '  into  '  t.'  Thus  a  fox,  '  cadno ' 


60  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

becomes  'catno,'  which  led  a  bold  hunting- 
man  once  to  declare  that  Welsh  rustics  called 
foxes  wild  cats.  Another  change  conies  of 
softening  the  '  a ' :  a  Welsh  boy  in  Gwent 
speaks  of  a  father,  '  Tad/  as  '  tead.'  Then  the 
'  h '  is  often  shaky,  and  it  seems  only  in  Gwent 
the  English  vulgarism  of  '  awfully '  is  accepted 
slang  as  in  the  phrase — '  da  afnatw  ! '  ('  awfully 
good  ! ').  In  his  capital  little  word-book  for  the 
district  the  Rev.  John  Griffith  gives  many  other 
local  differences,  as  the  innocent  expletive,  '  neno 
dyn '  for  '  yn  yr  enw  dyn ' — '  in  the  name  of  man. 
However,  it  is  by  no  means  here  only  that  the 
initial  '  y '  is  dropped  for  convenience  in  ordinary 
talk. 

I  have  forgotten  in  the  account  of  this  trans- 
formed countryside  the  claims  of  Cefn  Mabley, 
so  called  after  Mable,  daughter  of  Fitzhamon. 
This  is  indeed  a  superb  old  house  to  make  a  man 
covetous  who  loves  the  past  as  Freeman  did. 
There  are  perhaps  twenty  seats  in  this  south 
country  that  one  could  willingly  hold  for  one's 
own,  and  be  able  to  have  early  associations 
with ;  and  Cefn  Mabley  not  least  among  them. 
Here  lived  in  the  time  of  the  Civil  War  Sir 
Nicholas  Kemeys,  a  soldier  made  of  indomitable 
stuff,  who  held  Chepstow  Castle  for  the  King 
and  died  rather  than  surrender  it.  A  descendant 
of  his,  Colonel  Kemeys-Tynte,  has  published  some 
tales  of  the  old  house,  which  help  to  conjure 
it  up,  as  such  mirrors  may  do,  with  its  soldiers' 
gallery,  ball-room  and  great  table  long  as  the 
oak-tree  that  went  to  make  it. 

Well  above  Cefn  Mabley  stands  Ruperra, 
another  old  seat  connected  with  the  Morgan 
family.  The  wooded  lawns  around  it  were,  in 


FROM  THE  USK  TO  THE  TAFF 


61 


July,  1645,  stirred  by  the  arrival  of  King  Charles 
the  First  as  the  guest  of  Sir  Philip  Morgan. 
Ruperra  is,  with  some  show  of  tradition  at  least, 
claimed  for  an  Inigo  Jones  house.  It  was 
designed  on  large  lines,  with  a  commanding 
relation  to  its  spacious  site.  An  entry  in  Richard 
Symonds'  Diary  of  the  King's  stay  in  Wales  after 
Naseby  runs : — 

"Sunday,  July  27,    1645. — His  Matle  lay  at  Euperrie,  a 
faire  seate  of  Mr.  Morgan." 


A  WEST  MONMOUTHSHIEE   COTTAGE. 

This  was  the  time  of  the  King's  disheartening 
negotiations  with  the  "  Peaceable  Army."  Next 
day  he  went  on  to  Cardiff,  but  returned  to  Sir 
Philip  Morgan's  roof  and  made  it  his  headquarters 
for  a  day  or  two  longer.  While  there  ill-news 
continued  to  arrive,  and  he  heard  of  the  burning 
of  Abergavenny  Castle— or  the  habitable  part  of 
it.  Intrigues  were  gathering  head  against  him 


62  THE   SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

on  every  side  in  South  Wales,  and  the  squires 
were  becoming  more  and  more  disaffected.  The 
Rhymney  River  makes  a  true  Glamorgan  curve 
as  it  circles  to  the  north  of  Ruperra.  It  flows 
on  then,  serving  as  the  boundary  for  the  two 
shires  for  over  twenty  miles  of  its  course  to  its 
namesake  village,  and  reaches  the  sea  at  one  end 
of  the  sea-flat  whose  other  end  is  now  shaped 
and  transformed  into  the  Bute  Docks — the  marsh 
made  into  a  huge  geometrically  planned  har- 
bour. 

Approaching  Cardiff  from  the  east — and  if  by 
one  of  the  higher  roads  all  the  better ! — you  are 
bound  to  be  set  thinking  of  Geraint  and  the  way 
he  took  thither  from  Caerleon.  The  description 
of  the  road  and  his  arrival  in  the  town  is  one  of 
the  best  contrived  things,  full  as  it  is  of  the  sense 
of  greater  adventure  to  come,  which  is  to  be  had 
in  all  wayfaring  literature.  You  realise  the  Car- 
diff of  the  Mabinogion  the  better  for  reading 
it  again  in  that  princely  old  story-book.  Let  us 
relate  the  end  of  the  journey  to  the  page  for  the 
sake  of  the  sheer  gust  of  romance  it  brings  with 
it :  it  ends  for  that  night,  you  remember,  in  the 
upper  chamber  of  the  ruined  hall  of  the  dis- 
possessed, hoary-headed  lord,  Enid's  father,  where 
Geraint  first  spies  the  destined  maid,  Enid.  There 
sits  the  ancient,  worn-out  dame  in  tattered,  worn- 
out  satin,  the  wreck  of  beauty ;  and  beside  her 
Enid,  in  her  much-worn  vest — "beginning  to  be 
worn  out."  It  is  a  piece  of  real  history  that 
follows,  showing  what  went  on  in  many  a  castle 
in  the  new  Normandy  of  South  Wales. 


CHAPTER  VI 

OLD  AND  NEW  CARDIFF — THE  SEAPORT,  THE  CITY 
AND  THE  CASTLE — A  RARE  CASTLE-BREAKER — 
THE  "  CUSTOMERS  "  AND  THE  SMUGGLERS 

ONE  autumn  morning,  bound  for  Cardiff,  we  sailed 
out  from  Uphill  Bay  on  the  Somerset  side,  with 
Brean  Down  on  our  left,  and  looked  westward 
through  the  morning  haze  that  lay  along  the 
Welsh  coast  opposite.  A  glimpse  of  Barry  Island 
ought  to  have  been  caught  presently,  almost  on  a 
line  with  the  lighthouse  on  Flatholme,  as  our  boat's 
head  swerved  ;  but  we  were  not  sure  of  it.  How- 
ever, we  knew  that  within  the  curved  bay  behind 
Coldknap  Point  the  tide  washed  over  the  vanished 
Castle  of  Porthkerry  ;  and  the  thought  of  St.  Ceri 
and  of  Penarth,  to  which  our  course  was  set,  were 
quite  enough  to  start  the  spirit  of  the  old  sea- 
tales  which  Somerset  and  South  Wales  shared. 
There  are  one  or  two  vestiges  of  these  in  Malory, 
which  show  how  Cardiff  counted  in  the  wild 
geography  of  those  tales.  Most  notable  is  the 
embarking  of  Launcelot : — 

"And  wholly  an  hundred  knights  departed  with  Sir 
Launcelot  at  once,  and  made  their  avows  they  would  never 
leave  him  for  weal  nor  for  woe.  And  so  they  shipped  at 
Cardiff,  and  sailed  unto  Benwick  ;  some  men  call  it  Bayonne, 
and  some  men  call  it  Beaume,  where  the  wine  of  Beaume  is." 

63 


64  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Following  hot  upon  Launcelot's  heels  came  the 
King  himself,  who  made  ready  a  great  host  to 
pass  over  the  sea;  and  he  too  shipped  at  Cardiff. 
Not  only  that.  It  was  there  he  took  the  fatal 
step  of  making  Mordred  "  chief  ruler "  during  his 
war  in  France,  and  put  Queen  Gwenever  under 
the  traitor's  charge,  thus  hastening  on  the  doom 
of  the  realm. 

How  inevitably  it  recalls  the  Welsh  legend  of 
the  Norman  settlement  in  Glamorgan,  as  told  in 
the  country  and  in  the  famous  old  history-book 
by  Bice  Merrick  which  is  its  testament.  When 
you  have  allowed  for  the  shuffling  of  names  and 
places  and  the  telling  and  retelling  of  this  par- 
ticular episode,  you  begin  to  see  how  it  was  King 
Arthur  went  through  so  many  transmogrifications 
— as  from  a  British  chief  into  a  Roman  Emperor, 
or  from  a  Roman  into  a  Welsh  prince.  The  next 
thing  was  to  Normanise  him,  and  relate  him  to 
Cardiff,  the  Normal  citadel.  Unlike  most  Welsh 
castles,  Cardiff  has  the  sprucer  military  air  of  one 
that  is  used,  and  lived  in,  and  kept  up  in  state. 
In  the  midst  of  modern  Cardiff  it  looks  modern, 
and  seems  to  forget  the  old  town  which  clustered 
around  its  walls,  and  took  name  and  fame  from 
the  citadel  on  the  Taff  River.  The  Caer  in  the 
name  of  Cardiff  comes  from  the  Castle,  and  the 
meaning  of  the  "  diff "  or  "  dydd  "  is  hardly 
doubtful.  The  best  of  local  guides  gives  four- 
teen variations  in  the  spelling  of  the  name, 
including  Kardi,  Cardivia,  Caer  Dyf,  Kerdiff  and 
Cairtaphe.  The  last  mentioned  is  Leland's  read- 
ing of  Cardiff,  and  it  may  encourage  you  to  arrive 
at  the  decisive  variant — Caerdaff,  the  Castle  of 
Taff,  just  as  Llandaff  was  the  Church  of  Taff. 

But,    standing    by    Cardiff    Castle,    do    not    be 


OLD  AND  NEW  CARDIFF  65 

beguiled  by  its  newer  aspect  into  forgetting  the 
secrets  that  have  dropped  into  its  dust.  Before 
there  was  a  Norman  castle  there  was  a  Welsh  one, 
and  before  the  Welsh  castle  there  was  a  Roman, 
and  little  doubt  but  that  before  the  Roman  there 
was  a  British  caer.  Aulus  Didius  was  the  first 
Roman  to  plant  the  eagle  securely  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Taff ;  but  he  was  not  by  any  means  the  true 
conqueror  of  the  Silures.  Ostorius,  tired,  doffed 
his  conqueror's  shoes ;  and  Didius  succeeding 
him,  only  put  them  on.  So  some  generals  win 
with  the  victories  of  others.  However  that  may 
be,  a  segment  of  the  Roman  wall  has  been 
unearthed  in  its  massive  entirety  on  the  banks 
of  the  Taff,  and  it  is  to  be  seen  if  you  walk 
straight  across  the  Castle  grounds  from  the 
entrance.  Then,  if  it  is  summer,  and  the  trees 
are  in  leaf,  you  have  left  the  modern  world 
and  the  ambitious  city  behind,  and  are  in  the 
time  and  place  of  Duke  Robert,  or  you  are  a 
contemporary,  if  you  please,  of  Aulus  and  his 
sentinels.  There  are  not  many  such  examples  of 
Roman  masonry  to  be  had  anywhere.  The  wall 
at  this  point  is  some  thirteen  feet  high  and  seven 
feet  thick  at  half  its  height ;  many  of  the  stones 
are  larger  than  those  usually  found  in  Roman 
mason-work,  whose  size  was  strictly  adapted  to  the 
capacity  of  the  British  shoulders  that  had  to  bear 
them. 

One  turns  here,  in  a  moment,  from  the  Roman 
to  the  Norman  caer.  It  is  the  unique  effect  of 
this  Castle  to  mark  the  seven  ages  of  Wales  in 
its  stones. 

Cardiff  Castle  was  the  fighting  base  of  the 
Norman  conquerors  of  South  Wales.  As  we  said 
before,  the  story  of  Fitzhamon  and  his  twelve 

5 


66  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

knights  has  both  stolen  things  from  and  lent 
them,  to  romance ;  and  the  traffic  their  names 
recall  between  Wales  and  Normandy  explains 
something  of  the  traffic  in  the  Arthurian  tales 
that  went  on  betwixt  the  countries  across  the 
Channel.  The  figure  of  Robert  Curthose,  Duke 
of  Normandy,  who  spent  some  twenty-five  years 
in  Robert's  Tower,  and  died  in  1134,  starts  up,  a 
burly  shadow,  out  of  the  shades.  He  was  a  lover 
of  minstrelsy  while  he  lived,  and  took  a  wise 
interest  in  the  poetry  of  his  enforced  country,  and 
learned  enough  of  the  Welsh  tongue  to  write  in 
it.  Yes,  he  wrote  a  Welsh  poem,  addressed,  as 
Penarth  might  have  reminded  us,  to  a  distant 
oak  that  he  saw  from  his  prison  window  on  the 
Head  there.  Somewhat  thus  it  runs: — 

"Oak  that  grows  on  the  battle-rood; 
After  battle,  after  blood  ; — 
Alas,  for  the  wine  that  fed  the  feud  I 

Oak  that  grows  upon  the  green, 
Where  the  red  blood-drip  has  been  I 
Alas,  for  him  that  hate  has  seen  ! 

Oak  that  watches  from  the  bluff 

The  Severn  Sea, — blow  fair,  blow  rough! 

Alas,  for  the  old,  not  old  enough  ! " 

There  are  more  verses,  and  unluckily  for  Count 
Robert's  fame  as  a  Welsh  poet,  they  are  very  like 
some  older  ones  addressed  to  a  still  older  tree. 
But  there  is  the  genuine  echo  of  his  predicament 
in  them,  and  they  help  to  establish  his  place  as 
a  sympathetic  merchant  dealing  in  Cardiff's  medi- 
aeval literary  market,  which  received  legends  and 
other  Welsh  produce — not  being  at  all  averse  to 
stolen  goods — and  stamped  them  with  a  French 


OLD  AND   NEW  CARDIFF  67 

name  for  the  French  market.  It  reminds  me  that 
some  twenty-five  years  ago  I  once  drove  from 

Court  Henri  to  a  farm  on  the  B uplands,  where 

they  made  a  most  deliciously  flavoured  creamy 
cheese.  When  I  asked  the  farmer  what  he  did 
with  such  a  valuable  commodity  he  told  me  it  was 
sent  to  London,  stamped  with  a  Swiss  mark,  and 
retailed  in  Soho  and  the  French  mart  at  a  high 
price. 

One  is  liable  to  get  confused  between  Duke 
Robert  of  Normandy  and  Earl  Robert  of  Glou- 
cester, in  whose  charge  he  was.  The  Earl,  known 
also  as  Robert  of  Caen,  was  himself  a  lover  of 
poetry  and  learning,  and  had  his  Welsh  sympa- 
thies ;  and  in  the  Castle  here,  or  another  gallery, 
hangs  a  picture  of  him,  with  Geoffrey  of  Mon- 
mouth,  Caradoc  of  Llancarvan,  and  Walter  Map 
gathered  about  him.  Duke  Robert's  Tower,  as  it 
is  now,  has  been  much  altered  and  added  to.  The 
late  Lord  Bute  tells  us  that  when  Pope  Calixtus 
II.  met  Henry  I.  at  Givors,  he  remonstrated  with 
the  King  upon  his  treatment  of  his  brother. 
"  Henry  replied  that  '  as  for  his  brother,  he  had  not 
caused  him  to  be  bound  in  fetters  like  a  captive 
enemy,  but,  treating  him  like  a  noble  pilgrim  worn 
out  with  long  sufferings,  had  placed  him  in  a  Royal 
Castle,  and  supplied  his  table  and  wardrobe  with 
all  kinds  of  luxuries  and  delicacies  in  great  abund- 
ance. In  1134  Robert  died  at  Cardiff,  and  is 
stated  to  have  been  carried  to  Gloucester,  and 
buried  with  great  honours  in  the  pavement  of  the 
church  before  the  altar." 

The  Castle  is  still  haunted  by  the  figure  of  Duke 
Robert,  even  while  other  ghosts  are  forgotten. 
He  may  be  sketched  as  he  was  when  he  had  grown 
stout  from  want  of  exercise.  "  Stout  and  indolent, 


68  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

pedantic,  and  self -important,"  one  writer  calls  him. 
Indolent  and  weak-willed,  he  probably  was.  The 
popular  account  of  his  end  is  like  a  moving  passage 
adapted  from  an  old  play  : — 

' '  During  his  imprisonment,  it  happened  that  Henry  his 
brother,  and  then  kinge,  had  brought  him,  upon  a  feast  daye, 
in  the  morninge,  a  scarlet  garment  to  putt  on,  with  a  cape  for 
the  head,  as  the  manor  then  was,  which,  as  he  essayed,  he 
found  it  too  straighte  in  the  cape,  insomuche  that  he  brake  a 
stitche  or  twoe  in  the  seame,  and,  castinge  it  aside,  he  bad 
his  gentleman  give  it  to  his  brother  Robert,  for  his  head 
(quoth  he)  is  less  than  myne.  The  garment  was  brought  him, 
and  when  he  sawe  it  a  little  torne,  he  demanded  how  it  hap- 
pened that  it  was  not  sewed  ;  the  gentleman  told  the  trouthe, 
which,  as  he  understode,  he  fell  into  a  great  melancholy, 
sayinge,  '  And  dothe  my  brother  make  me  his  bedeman,  in 
that  he  sendethe  me  his  cast  clothes  ?  Then  have  I  lyved  too 
longe  ! '  and,  refusing  all  sustenance,  he  died." 

It  is  the  Banqueting  Hall,  a  stately  apartment 
wainscoted  in  walnut,  which  is  frescoed  with  the 
story  of  the  royal  prisoner,  Duke  Robert.  The 
Entrance  Hall  is  connected  with  the  Banqueting 
Hall  by  the  grand  staircase,  and  an  octagonal 
staircase  connects  the  latter  chamber  with  the 
Library  and  the  Chapel.  The  Chapel  is,  I  suppose, 
the  most  gorgeous  religious  interior  to  be  seen 
in  Wales.  Painted  marble  walls  and  ceilings, 
enamelled  shields,  glowing  pictures,  and  an  altar 
representing  the  tomb  of  the  Saviour,  give  the 
building  an  excess  of  splendour. 

The  castellan,  or  as  he  is  called  in  Malory's 
Morte  D' Arthur,  the  Captain  of  Cardiff,  was 
only  a  casual  apparition  in  Arthurian  romance ; 
but  the  shadow  of  the  Castle  and  its  history  and 
traditions  slants,  and  extends  its  length  and  exag- 


OLD  AND  NEW  CARDIFF  69 

gerated  proportions  through  many  an  Arthurian 
page. 

Cardiff  Castle,  as  you  now  see  it,  is  the  master- 
piece of  the  late  Marquess  of  Bute,  who  died  in 
1900.  Mr.  Burges,  a  great  designer,  was  the  archi- 
tect to  whom  the  alterations  and  restorations  were 
entrusted ;  and  to  him  we  owe  the  ornate  Clock 
Tower,  the  restored  curtain  wall,  and  other  changes, 
including  the  clearing  away  in  advance  of  the  old 
walls  and  houses  which  blocked  the  view.  The 
panels  on  either  side  of  the  clock-face  are  adorned 
by  statues  of  Mars  and  Sol  and  Jupiter,  with  the 
signs  of  the  Zodiac  under  their  feet ;  the  lead  roof 
is  garnished  with  strange  stars.  The  Clock  Tower 
would  make  in  itself  a  desirable  mansion  for  a 
Welsh  poet  of  degrees,  or  an  historiographer. 
The  summer  smoking-room  comes  at  the  top  of 
all,  with  a  gallery  and  dome  whose  panels  again 
display  starry  decorations,  while  the  secrets  of 
the  Zodiac  appear  in  the  painted  tiles  between  the 
windows,  and  a  dado  of  red  marble  completes  a 
scheme  of  colour  that  is  half  fantastic.  The  lower, 
or  winter,  smoking-room  is  even  more  gorgeous ; 
and  its  painted  and  vaulted  ceiling,  its  painted 
walls,  its  painted  windows,  might  rather  appear 
fitted  to  indulge  the  dreams  of  an  opium-smoker 
than  humour  the  plain  tobacco-pipe.  Sun  and 
stars,  Thor  and  Woden,  the  days  of  the  week,  and 
the  four  seasons  of  the  year  are  figured  there  in 
splendour ;  and  the  wood-carving  is  the  work  of  a 
fine  artist,  the  late  Thomas  John,  father  of  Mr. 
Goscombe  John,  A.R.A.,  the  Welsh  sculptor. 

Every  Welsh  Norman  castle  had  its  castle- 
breaker.  As  one  walks  the  green  close  or  the  high 
battlements  of  Cardiff  one  is  haunted  by  the  form 
of  Ivor  Bach,  Ivor  the  Little,  who,  little  as  he  was, 


70  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

outdid  all  other  feats  of  the  kind.  Only  a  Dumas 
could  do  justice  to  this  great-little  creature.  A 
sort  of  Dumas  we  had,  a  fighting  cleric  and  an 
intermittent  romancer,  in  Gerald  de  Barri,  who  did 
write  an  account  of  Ivor's  capping  adventure. 
But  he  wrote  it  in  earnest,  for  his  own  people  held 
castles,  and  he  felt  the  two  currents,  Welsh  and 
Norman,  at  strife  in  his  own  blood,  and  realised 
that  castle-breaking  was  a  very  serious  business. 

Reading  this  Ivor  episode,  you  breathe  that  finer 
element  which  often  gives  Welsh  history  an  air 
not  quite  real,  an  air  of  the  unconditioned  ;  for 
here  was  an  all  but  incredible  adventure  carried 
through  by  a  real  knight  for  whom  restraints  did 
not  count,  who  treated  castle  walls  and  their 
garrisons  and  castellans  as  lightly  as  Kai  treated 
the  Castle  of  Gwrnach  the  giant  in  the  story 
of  Olwen. 

It  happened,  Gerald  de  Barri  tells  us,  that 
William,  Earl  of  Gloucester,  who  besides  Cardiff 
Castle  held  all  Morganwg — that  is,  the  old  land  of 
Glamorgan — quarrelled  with  this  Ivor — "  a  man  of 
small  stature  but  great  courage."  Ivor  owned, 
"  Welsh  fashion,  a  large  tract  of  the  wooded  and 
the  wild  hill-country  ;  and  this  the  Earl  was  minded 
to  take  from  him.  Now  at  that  time  the  Castle  of 
Caerdyff  was  walled  by  high  walls,  kept  by  120 
men-at-arms,  a  fine  body  of  archers,  and  a  strong 
watch.  Yet,  defying  them  all,  Ivor  scaled  the 
walls  at  dead  of  night,  seized  the  Earl  and  Coun- 
tess and  their  only  son,  carried  them  off,  and  did 
not  let  them  go  again  till  he  got  back  every- 
thing that  had  been  taken  from  him — ay,  and  a 
pretty  large  slice  of  land  beside." 

Ivor's  strong-house  was  in  a  notch  of  the  hill, 
probably  on  a  site  a  little  above  Lord  Bute's  reno- 


OLD  AND  NEW  CARDIFF  71 

vated  Castell  Coch,  which  again  suggests  the  Red 
Castle  of  many  tales.  But  the  capitol  of  all  these 
castles,  Gerald's  "  Caerdyff  "  or  "  Kaerdiva,"  had  its 
revenge  on  Ivor's  stock.  In  that  old  budget  of 
gossip's  history,  Rice  Merrick's  Booke  of  Glamor- 
ganshire's Antiquities,  already  quoted  in  this 
chapter,  you  may  read  that  the  unfortunate  grand- 
children of  Griffith  ab  Ivor,  who  married  a  Clare, 
had  their  eyes  put  out  and  were  starved  to  death 
here  by  Sir  Richard  de  Clare,  their  kinsman.  Only 
one  escaped,  who  was  then  a  babe  in  his  nurse's  arms. 
"  Of  whom  God,"  says  Rice  Merrick,  "  multiplied  a 
great  people."  A  remarkable  old  Welsh  family, 
indeed,  sprang  from  Howel's  loins. 

When  Cardiff's  mediseval  romance-episodes  were 
over,  a  hearty  era  of  buccaneering  romance  set  in. 
Then  the  Knight  who  was  no  knight  at  all  in  the 
Arthurian  sense — that  John  Knight  who  dubbed 
himself  King  of  Lundy,  and  who  was  tyrant  of 
Barry  Isle — blackmailed  the  vessels  bound  for  Car- 
diff and  Bristowe,  and  Porlock  and  Bridgewater, 
and  hid  French  wines  and  foreign  tobacco  in  the 
Barry  sandhills,  and  terrorised  the  Cardiff  Custom 
House  with  an  armed  brig. 

You  must  turn  to  the  second  volume  of  the 
Cardiff  Records  and  look  up  the  Custom  House 
memoranda  for  the  years  1784  and  1787,  if  you 
would  read  of  the  doings  of  Knight  and  his  smug- 
glers, said  to  be  at  times  sixty  or  seventy  strong. 

On  November  18,  1784,  the  local  "Customers" 
report  to  the  London  Custom  House :  "  It's  with 
great  Truth  we  assure  you  that  the  People  here 
are  in  such  dread  of  Knight  and  his  Gang,  that  we 
found  a  difficulty  in  finding  People  to  Work  for 
us."  In  1787  we  hear  of  the  Preventives  having 
driven  "  that  notorious  Smugler  Knight  from  the 


72  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Island  of  Barry."  It  seems  that  he  had  transferred 
the  base  of  his  operations  from  Barry  to  Lundy. 
Thereupon,  no  doubt,  the  price  of  tobacco  went  up 
in  the  Cardiff  district ;  small  shops  were  not  so 
mysteriously  replenished  and  fewer  pipes  exhaled. 
You  get  but  a  passing  glimpse  of  Steepholme, 
where  one  of  the  early  hermits,  a  contemporary  of 
Arthur,  had  his  cell,  as  you  cross  the  Severn  Sea  to 
Cardiff.  But  you  can  spy  it  from  Penarth,  and  a 
white  sail  dipping  from  a  small  craft  to  the  south- 
west of  it  may  recall  to  you  that  Arthur  had  a  ship 
of  his  own,  called  Prydwen — "  White-Shape."  We 
may  cross  the  track  of  this  vessel  again  if  we 
follow  the  great  boar-hunt  of  the  "  Twrch 
Trwyth."  But  we  must  leave  the  sea-track  of  the 
old  legends  now,  and  with  it  this  new  great  seaport 
which  the  water  outlet  and  the  coal-field  together 
have  conspired  to  make  a  wonder  of  the  world. 
The  immensity  of  the  new  life  of  the  Welsh  capital 
drives  the  old  time  out  of  one's  mind  alto- 
gether. The  city  is  only  half  complete  as  yet ; 
streets  and  buildings  splendid  and  mean  jostle  each 
other  in  its  midst ;  but  everywhere  it  impresses 
you  as  alive,  ambitious  and  potential.  It  will 
be  one  of  the  great  battle-fields  between  Capital 
and  Labour  in  the  coming  struggle  of  the  twen- 
tieth century.  It  has  a  superb  castle  with  a  great 
tradition  and  a  pedigree  older  than  Norman.  It  is 
building  its  University  and  its  civic  halls  ;  and  will 
yet,  I  believe,  build  its  Parliament  House.  In  the 
Cathays  Park  is  the  natural  site  of  great  buildings ; 
but  it  is,  because  of  the  loose  river-gravel,  a  very 
difficult  one  to  engineer.  Still  the  old  Castle  was 
built  on  the  brink  of  the  Taff  too,  and  though  the 
rock  bottom  there  gave  a  better  foundation,  it 
must  have  needed  some  care  to^plan  the  site. 


CHAPTER   VII 

"BRO  MORGANWG,"  OR  "THE  VALE  OP  GLA- 
MORGAN"— THE  CASTLE  COUNTRY  —  DINAS 
POWYS  AND  THE  TALE  OF  THE  TWELVE 
KNIGHTS 

"My  men,  in  helm  and  jesseraunt, 

That  hurled  the  ladder  from  the  wall 
And  watched  it  fall ; 

My  towers  that  heard  the  trumpet  taunt — 
What  dust  has  closed  your  long  account?" 

BEFORE  we  follow  the  coast-line  west  of  Cardiff 
we  ought  to  make  a  detour  to  visit  some  of  the 
castles  that  carried  the  great  military  chain  across 
the  sea-levels  and  low  country  of  Glamorgan. 

The  tale  of  the  Twelve  Knights  with  many 
mingled  associations  of  Arthur  and  Charlemagne, 
and  its  confused  picture  of  many  towers  and  battle- 
ments of  castles  impossibly  crowded  together  as  in 
the  red,  blue,  and  gold  design  of  some  old  illuminated 
script,  rise  in  the  scene  as  one  turns  west  to  the 
rich  district  of  "  Bro  Morgan wg."  They  revive 
in  the  delightful  old  Booke  of  Glamorganshire's 
Antiquities,  written  by  Rice  Merrick  in  1578,  in 
which  we  view  the  coming  of  the  Normans 
and  the  Twelve  Knights  of  Fitzhamon  through  a 
pleasant  haze  of  real  history.  From  him,  too,  we 

73 


74  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

get  the  best  idea  that  is  to  be  had  anywhere  of  the 
natural  advantages  the  Vale  of  Glamorgan  offered 
the  castle-builder.  Rice  Merrick  lived  at  Cottrell, 
and  owned  part  of  the  manor  of  St.  Nicholas,  and 
he  was  Clerk  of  the  Peace  for  the  county.  In 
writing  his  book  he  drew  upon  a  Welsh  MS.  called 
Cutta  Kyvarrwydd,  dated  about  1445,  and  his 
history  has  the  singular  merit  that  it  has  the  air 
of  matter-of-fact  and  is  yet  steeped  in  romance. 

The  "  Conquest  of  Glamorgan,"  as  Merrick 
relates  its  story,  is  indeed  what  may  be  called 
"  Folk-tale  History."  We  learn  from  it  first  how 
comfortably  seated  was  the  Welsh  prince  who  was 
to  be  thrown  out — a  detail  that  adds  point  to  the 
tale  of  dispossession.  This  prince,  lestin,  had 
"  two  principall  houses  or  habitacons — Cardiff  and 
Dynaspowys,"  the  last  so  called  in  honour  of  his 
first  wife,  Denys,  who  came  from  Powys-land. 
Then  Merrick  defines  the  "Yale  of  Glamorgan" 
and  the  hill-country  above  it  in  his  expressive  way. 
Speaking  of  "  Bro  Morganwg,"  usually  Englished 
as  the  Vale  of  Glamorgan,  "  Bro,"  he  writes, 
"  which  is  as  much  to  say  as  the  lowe  country,"  or 
"  the  country  in  the  Vale,  extendeth  from  East  to 
West  about  24  miles ;  and  in  bredth  from  the 
Severn  Sea  on  the  south  side  to  the  foot  of  the 
Hills,  7  miles  less  or  more."  Now  here  was  the 
stormy  cradle  of  the  Welsh-Norman  tradition. 
Again,  "  This  Bro — being  the  body  of  Glamorgan, 
was  divided  into  two  by  the  Thaw,  and  then,  by 
the  highway — termed  the  Portway — from  Cardiff 
to  the  western  townes." 

Such  a  region  is  nothing  without  its  forest.  "  In 
the  west  part  was  a  great  ff orrest  called  the  fforrest 
of  Morgan" — the  eastern  confines,  let  us  inter- 
polate, of  Morgan  le  Fay's  country.  Then  Merrick 


"BRO  MORGANWG"  75 

turns  to  the  up-country,  or  "  Blainey."  "  Blayne," 
he  says,  "in  English  we  call  Montaines — 3  times 
double  as  much  and  more  as  the  low  country," 
and  divided  by  almost  a  continual  ridge  of  hills. 
And  more  particularly  it  is  the  "  Blaineu,"  or  upland 
district,  that  breeds  heroes.  For  "  as  this  soyle," 
compared  with  "  the  lowe  country,"  is  but  barren, 
yet  in  nourishing  and  bringing  upp  tall,  mighty 
and  active  men,  it  always  excelled  the  other." 
And  those  who  by  long  experience  have  governed 
both  regions,  he  says,  "prescribed  this  principle 
that  the  Glamorgan  lowlander  required  a  different 
treatment  to  the  highland.  "  This  to  be  wonne  by 
gentlenes,  the  other  [the  highlander]  kept  under 
with  feare." 

One  mightily  significant  thing  in  the  Glamorgan 
romance  of  the  coming  of  the  Normans,  as  Rice 
ap  Merrick  tells  it,  is  that  the  quarrel  between 
"  lestin  vap  Gurgan  and  Rhys  ap  Tewdwr "  is  due 
first  of  all  to  the  Bayrdd  (  "  Beirdd  "  ),  or  bards. 
Rhys's  "  beirdd,"  after  a  visit  to  lestin,  tell  Rhys 
that  Deheubarth  and  Morganwg  want  only  one 
completing  detail — a  meet  match  and  mate  for 
him.  Now  this  might  have  been  "  had  he  only  had 
lestin's  wife,  whereby,"  says  Rice  Merrick,  "  Rhys 
was  soon  kindled  with  Venus'  dart."  Here  is  a 
perfect  romance  opening.  In  his  ardour,  Rhys 
arranges  a  high  feast  at  Neath,  "  with  a  great 
trayne  of  Gentlemen  and  women."  It  is  but 
natural  that  war  should  follow.  And  then  it  is 
that  lestin  appeals  for  aid  outside  the  Welsh 
borders,  and  procures  Fitzhamon,  who  brings  an 
army  ranged  under  twelve  knights — "valiant 
men  well  practiced  in  the  feates  of  Chevallry." 
In  the  issue,  Rhys  is  overthrown  and  slain ;  and 
it  is  not  long  ere  the  Normans  take  occasion  to 


76  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

kill  lestin,  who  has  not  kept  faith  "on  Inon's 
recall." 

But  the  "  Bro  "  is  still  the  charm  that  acts  upon 
those  superb  land-thieves,  the  Normans.  In 
passing  through  Glamorgan,  says  Merrick — 

"the  plesant  (nature)  of  the  soyle,  which  abounded  with 
wyde  ffeildes — pastures,  deep  Moores,  sweete  Meadowes, 
goodly  Rivers,  wholsome  Springs,  great  shadowing  woodes — 
soe  pleased  and  delighted  the  eyes  of  Sir  Robert  Fittshamon 
and  his  'complices,  that  they  coveted  the  plant  themselves 
and  to  make  Seates  for  them  and  their  posterity  therein, 
according  to  the  Poet, 

"  'ffor  now  that  Soyle  contents  mee  more 
Than  all  my  Country  vayn.'" 

He  tells,  too,  how  on  their  fatal  recall,  when 
they  were  leaving  this  land  of  promise,  "  Einon 
overtook  them  at  Pwll  Myryg  about  a  mile  distant 
by  West  Chepstowe."  But  prior  to  this  the 
promised  reward,  or  "  Sallary,"  was  paid  at  "Golden 
Mile,"  which  is  between  Cowbridge  and  Ewenny. 

This  is  the  list  of  the  twelve  knights,  whose 
names  are  redolent  of  romance 

1.  Sir  Wm.  de  Londres  (Ogmore). 

2.  Sir  Rich,  de  Granvilla  (Neath). 

3.  Sir  Pagan,  alias  Payn  Turbervile  (Coyty). 

4.  Sir  Robt.  of  Sainct  Quintin  (Llanblethyan). 

5.  Sir  Rich.  Seward  (Talavan — Seward's  Land). 

6.  Sir  Gilbert  Humfreyvyle  (Penmarck). 

7.  Sir  Raynould  de  Sully  (Sully). 

8.  Sir  Roger  Berkrols  (East  Orchard). 

9.  Sir  Peter  le  Soore  (St.  Ffagan's  and  Peterson). 

10.  Sir  John  Flemynge  (Wenvoe,  Lamays,  Flemingston). 

11.  Sir  Olliver  St.  John  (Foonmoonn). 

12.  Sir  Wm.  le  Esterlinge  (St.  Donette's). 

Of  the  castles  whose  names  we  may  recognise  in 


"BRO  MORGANWG"  77 

those  that  are  bracketed  after  the  twelve  knights' 
names,  several  lie  within  easy  hail  of  Cardiff.  St. 
Fagan's,  now  Lord  Windsor's  seat,  is  only  three 
miles  to  the  north-west ;  Fonmon  is  about  ten 
miles  south-west :  Wenvoe,  six  miles  south-west ; 
and  Sully  on  the  coast  about  two  leagues  south, 
near  Sully  Island  (where  was  an  older  Danish 
sea-castle  or  fort). 

But,  before  any,  in  order  of  time  and  of  the 
great  Glamorgan  legend,  as  Rice  Merrick  paints  it, 
we  ought  to  turn  to  Dinas  Powys — the  seat  of 
lestin  and  Denys,  his  wife. 

Dinas  Powys  lies  in  that  region  of  pretty 
countiy  which,  being  within  easy  distance  of  Cardiff 
and  Penarth,  is  being  gradually  overbuilt  and 
spoilt.  Dinas  Powys,  approached  from  the 
Cadoxton  road,  and  seen  above  its  green  cwm, 
makes  an  effect  that  one  does  not  soon  forget. 
The  interior  of  the  Castle  is  used  now  as  a  garden 
by  its  owner,  and  castle-hunters  are  not  encouraged 
to  invade  it ;  but  the  approach  from  the  highway 
below  is  alluring.  A  strategic  view  can  be  had  of 
its  walls  from  the  slope  of  the  dingle,  near  Dinas 
Farm,  and  then  the  ancient  stones  and  strength  of 
the  place  are  plainly  seen.  Posted  there,  on  its 
limestone  base,  it  perfectly  commands  the  cwm 
(through  which,  no  doubt,  ran  one  of  the  Welsh 
green  roads  that  threaded  the  district).  Thus  it 
served  as  a  key  to  a  dangerous  door.  The  next 
castle  to  Dinas  Powys,  on  the  west,  is  Wenvoe  ; 
and  Wenvoe  was  within  easy  call  of  the  fighting 
monks  of  Llancarvan.  Beili  Castle,  on  the  north 
of  Dinas  Powys,  and  Sully  and  Barry  on  the  south, 
tell  us,  for  the  twentieth  time,  how  ringed  about 
with  fortresses  and  strong-houses  was  the  whole 
castlery  of  Cardiff. 


78  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Dinas  Powys  tradition,  further  complicating  Rice 
Merrick's  and  other  mixed  tales  about  lestyn  ap 
Gwrgant,  tells  how  (as  a  wedding  present  for  his 
young  wife,  Denys,  a  Powys  princess)  he  built  this 
Castle  before  the  Normans  came  by  his  disastrous 
invitation  ;  and  how,  in  spite  of  their  coming,  his 
surviving  five  sons,  born  and  bred  in  this  Castle, 
founded  five  great  old  families,  all  bearing  the  same 
arms.  Now,  the  arms  of  lestyn  are  "  gules,  three 
chevronels  in  pale,  argent."  If  you  are  anything 
of  a  pedigree  man,  you  will  see  the  importance  of 
this  reminder.  As  for  lestyn,  you  will  remember 
how,  by  the  common  tradition,  he  died  no  farther 
away  than  "  Mynydd  Bychan,"  or  the  Heath,  as  it 
is  now  called.  So  says  one  story.  Another  swears 
he  died  at  Llangennys  Monastery,  having,  like 
Llywarch  Hen,  survived  all  his  sons.  But  one 
thing  has  still  to  be  said  about  lestyn's  wife, 
Denys  :  the  chroniclers  declare  she  gave  her  name, 
as  would  be  very  natural,  to  the  Castle,  which 
would  become  Denys  Powys.  Mr.  Thomas  Morgan, 
a  good  local  authority,  in  his  Glamorganshire 
Place  Names,  appears  to  accept  this  notion.  But 
one  cannot  help  suspecting  that  Dinas  Powys  was 
a  British  camp  before  lestyn  touched  the  site,  and 
that  there  was  a  "  diiias,"  or  old  British  habitation, 
here  for  centuries  before  Denys  came  from  Powys. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  countryside  richer  than 
the  Vale  of  Glamorgan  in  the  half-buried  debris 
of  real  history,  tradition,  and  superstition,  dreadful 
and  beautiful.  Earliest  of  all,  there  lives  an  echo 
of  Druid  terror  about  the  standing  stones.  What 
but  a  maenhir  would  go  down  and  dip  in  the  sea 
on  Christmas  night?  There  are  Druid  stones  at 
Duffryn,  near  St.  Nicholas  ;  the  field  where  they 
stand  is  supposed  to  be  under  a  curse.  Nothing 


"BRO  MORGANWG"  79 

will  grow  there.  Once  a  year  the  stones  rise  up, 
on  Midsummer  Eve,  and  whirl  round  three  times. 
Any  one  who  sleeps  in  the  great  cromlech  in  the 
Duffryn  Woods  on  one  of  the  three  spirit  nights 
will  go  raving  mad.  Only  once  a  year  does  the  sun 
dance  ;  if  you  will  only  get  up  early  enough  on 
Easter  Monday  morning  you  will  see  it. 

More  perishable  than  the  British  superstition, 
the  Roman  seems  to  have  faded  out  completely, 
unless,  as  is  possible,  some  of  the  treasure-stories 
date  from  Roman  days.  There  is  often  a  tale  of  a 
grey  lady,  or  a  white  lady,  or  even  of  a  black  lady, 
connected  with  the  finding  of  a  buried  hoard. 
Sometimes  they  are  manifestly  the  ghost  of  some 
memory  of  deadly  terror,  slow  to  die  out, 
connected  for  hundreds  of  years  with  the  same 
spot. 

Phantom  funerals  still  pass  along  the  roads  of 
the  valley.  A  man  riding  home  from  market  may 
even  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  see  his  own  funeral 
moving  in  ghostly  procession,  and  then  go  home  to 
die.  In  Miss  Marie  Trevelyan's  Llantwit  collection 
of  Welsh  folk-lore  a  story  is  given  of  a  phantom 
horse,  the  property  of  an  old  house  in  Glamorgan. 

A  few  years  ago  an  English  wanderer  in 
Glamorgan  asked  to  be  allowed  to  see  the  interior 
of  the  house.  After  spending  an  idle  hour  in  the 
house,  he  left,  and  while  going  down  the  drive 
saw  a  white  horse  cantering  towards  him.  It  was  a 
beautiful  animal  with  a  splendid  white  mane  and 
long,  flowing  tail.  The  stranger  stood  aside  and 
the  horse  passed,  going  straight  up  to  the  great 
entrance  of  the  hall.  The  visitor  thought  no  more 
of  the  horse  until  he  sat  at  supper  in  a  small 
country  inn  in  the  neighbourhood.  There  he  hap- 
pened to  say  to  the  innkeeper  what  a  fine  white 


80  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

horse  he  had  seen  in  the  manor-drive — a  horse  that 
he  was  fairly  sure  was  an  Arab.  He  explained  that 
the  Arab  was  riderless.  The  landlord  asked  if  any 
groom  or  man  was  with  it,  and  the  stranger  said  it 
was  alone.  For  a  moment  or  two  the  other  looked 
troubled,  and  then  in  a  whisper  said,  "  If  you 
please,  sir,  do  not  mention  this  in  the  village,  because 
it  is  a  token  of  death  in  the  manor-house  family." 
The  visitor  remained,  it  is  added,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood long  enough  to  hear  that  one  of  the  sons  of 
the  manor-house  had  just  died  in  India. 

If  you  have  a  gift  that  way,  you  may  chance  to 
see  not  only  a  death-horse  in  the  Vale  of  Glamor- 
gan, but  water-horses,  too.  There  is  one  that  rolls 
and  plunges  in  the  edges  of  the  sea-waves  when  a 
storm  is  coming  on.  There  is  another  that  comes 
up,  all  dripping,  out  of  the  streams  and  frightens 
the  lonely  shepherd  boy  or  girl. 

There  are  other  queer  creatures  you  had  better 
not  meet :  snakes  that  have  underground  treasures 
to  guard,  corpse-lights  moving  where  no  light  should 
be,  funeral-dogs,  and  cunning  old  reprobate  grizzled 
foxes  that  have  lived  far  too  long  and  seen  far  too 
much.  Worst  of  all,  there  are  wicked,  grey-headed 
hares  that  it  is  not  at  all  safe  to  meddle  with. 

There  are  wise-men  and  wise-women  still  that  it 
is  not  safe  to  meddle  with  either ;  a  tradition  of 
the  old  half-magical  practice  of  medicine  still  sur- 
vives. We  are  wise  enough  now  to  admit  the  exist- 
ence of  certain  powerful  individualities,  natural 
healers  gifted  with  magnetic  force,  and  to  believe 
in  the  sympathetic  power  of  the  will,  and  to  recog- 
nise that  those  healers  at  times  got  hold  of  some- 
thing that  our  hospitals  cannot  teach.  Personally, 
I  have  known  remarkable  instances  of  cures, 
especially  of  hydrophobia,  by  very  extraordinary 


'AN  UNCONSCIOUS  FOLK-LORIST " :  VALE  OF  GLAMORGAN. 

Drawing  by  Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas. 


To  face  p. 


"BRO  MORGANWG"  81 

practitioners  indeed.  An  old  country  doctor  said 
to  a  friend,  "  If  ever  I  were  bitten  by  a  mad  dog  I 
should  not  dream  of  going  to  Pasteur.  I  should  go 

straight  to "  (mentioning  a  local  wizard).     "  He 

cured  thirty  of  the  worst  cases  I  have  seen  in  this 
district." 

A  famous  local  habitation  of  these  half -magical 
practices  is  the  rag-well.  There  is  one  near 
Bridgend  and  another  at  Marcross,  near  Nash  Point. 
There  is  nearly  always  the  same  favouring  scene  : 
the  shut-in  landscape,  the  small  well,  the  conscious 
thorn-bush  fluttering  with  rags.  The  ancient  prac- 
tice of  these  rag-wells  has  become  obscured.  Origi- 
nally the  suffering  pilgrim  stood  within  the  water 
of  the  well,  bathed  the  eyes  or  other  affected  part 
(Marcross  is  a  powerful  eye-well),  hung  the  bandage 
used  upon  the  thorn  and  dropped  a  small  coin  (in 
later  days  a  pin)  into  the  well  as  an  offering  to  the 
presiding  spirit  of  the  place.  The  rag  placed  on  the 
thorn  was  regarded  as  a  vehicle  of  disease,  not  as 
an  offering  ;  the  visitor  to  the  well  hoped  to  leave 
his  or  her  ailment  hanging  on  the  thorn.  The 
modern  man,  looking  at  the  ancient  bush  with  its 
fluttering  or  lazily  hanging  burden,  does  not  know 
whether  to  be  more  impressed  by  the  thorn  as  a 
nursery  for  microbes  or  as  a  symbol  of  the  faith 
that  moves  mountains,  operative  through  thousands 
of  years. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PENARTH  HEAD  —  THE  ARCHITECTURE  OF  THE 
COAST — DOCKS  AND  A  PICTURE-GALLERY — SULLY 
ISLAND  AND  THE  TWO  HOLMS 

WESTWARD  of  the  Taff  the  coast  changes,  and 
begins  to  show  signs  of  a  bolder  sea-front  befitting 
the  wider  sea  that  now  opens  before  it.  Penarth 
Head  marks  the  difference  well  with  its  Rhsetic 
cliff,  100  feet  high,  capped  by  Lias  and  based  on 
Keuper  Marl,  which,  by  the  way,  is  one  of  the  finest 
fossil-beds  in  the  country.  A  remarkable  piece  of 
rock  architecture,  this  parti-coloured  cliff  with  its 
fossil  fish-scales,  teeth,  bones  and  lignite,  stands  up 
a  plain  witness  of  the  changes  that  have  passed 
over  the  coast-line  of  Morganwg.  The  Rhsetic 
strata  here  are  known  as  the  "Penarth  Beds," 
the  name  Murchison  gave  them.  At  the  Cardiff 
Museum  lies  a  good  store  of  the  fossils  obtained  from 
them  by  the  late  John  Storrie,  a  born  naturalist, 
formerly  curator  there.  You  see  there  bones  and 
backbones  of  the  great  saurians,  with  perfect  teeth 
of  Ceratodus,  teeth  of  Sargodon,  along  with  tell- 
tale water-worn  fragments  of  lignite,  left  by  the 
old  forests  that  grew  here  before  the  first  stone- 
men  had  sharpened  their  stone-axes  to  cut  down 
a  tree. 

Turn  from  these  details  of  the  slow  building  of 


PENARTH  HEAD  83 

the  coast  by  earth  and  sea  to  the  newly  architec- 
tured  basins  of  the  great  docks.  The  cliff  of 
Penarth,  the  Bear's  Head,  forms  the  protecting 
shoulder  of  the  great  dock  there  ensconced ;  and 
presently  at  Barry  you  will  see  how  (as  Mr.  T.  H. 
Thomas  puts  it)  "  the  erosion  of  the  softer  Lias  by 
the  sea,  and  a  small  stream  on  either  side  of  a  mass 
of  mountain  limestone  supporting  Trias  beds,  have 
formed  a  waterway  which  has  been  trimmed  into 
a  dock  larger  in  area  than  any  other  in  England." 

Penarth  Head  makes  the  approach  to  the  water- 
ing-place below  a  trifle  eccentric  in  its  ups  and 
downs.  But  the  hilly  streets,  once  Penarth  proper 
is  reached,  give  variety  to  the  place,  and  increase  the 
sensation  of  the  bicyclist  when,  having  laboriously 
surmounted  the  long  ascent  of  the  Windsor  Road, 
he  lets  himself  go  on  the  corresponding  decline 
seawards  and  arrives  incontinently  on  the  Espla- 
nade. These  are  risks  no  Fitzhamon  ever  ran. 
For  the  rest,  the  pier,  the  superb  seascape  from  the 
Head,  the  Windsor  Gardens  and  their  toy  trees 
and  other  pleasures,  need  not  be  rediscovered  here. 
Penarth  Dock  is  another  matter;  it  captures  the 
imagination  by  its  bold  bid  at  sea  economy,  its 
water-gates  that  swallow  the  tides.  The  "  Head  " 
provides  the  Dock,  as  we  see,  a  shelter  by  its  great 
wind-breaking  natural  rampart,  much  as  Barry 
Island  serves  Barry  Docks.  Nature  can  be  a  rare 
carpenter ;  and  the  rocky  structure  of  the  Head  and 
the  coast  beyond  it  prove  her  a  master-mason  too. 

On  a  clear  day  the  view  from  Penarth  Head, 
which  is  207  feet  above  the  sea,  swallows  up  half 
the  Bristol  Channel  and  its  coast-line.  From  the 
smoke  ^of  Bristol,  seen  beyond  Clevedon;  from 
Portishead  to  Weston,  whose  lights  as  they  begin 
to  gleam  look  like  watch-stars  at  twilight  from  this 


84:  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

point,  with  the  lighthouse  on  Flatholm  shining  a 
little  to  the  south ;  from  Brean  Down  over  Bridge- 
water  Bay  the  range  is  wide,  but  it  is  cut  off  west- 
ward from  the  view  of  the  Quantocks  possessed  by 
Lavernock  Point. 

The  new  Church  of  St.  Augustine,  built  in  1895, 
stands  well  on  the  landward  slope  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  Head,  and  near  by  is  a  schoolhouse, 
with  a  coloured  fresco  of  boys  and  girls  at  play 
exhibited  on  its  front. 

Penarth  Dock  needs  an  engineer  to  appreciate  all 
the  science  expended  on  its  construction  and  its 
adaptation  to  the  tides  of  the  Severn  Sea.  Penarth 
Head,  as  we  said,  serves  the  Dock  here  very  much 
as  Barry  Island  serves  Barry  Docks.  Allowing  for 
the  outflow  of  the  river  Ely  at  Penarth,  the  lot  of 
the  two  places  is  very  similar.  Over  half  a  mile 
long,  the  Dock  and  its  great  basin  have  a  water 
area  of  twenty-six  acres.  The  width  of  the  sea- 
gates  is  thirty  yards,  and  the  depth  of  water  at  the 
common  spring  tides  six  fathoms.  Many  of  the 
largest  vessels  afloat,  laden  to  their  utmost  capacity, 
have  arrived  at  and  sailed  from  Penarth  Dock  with- 
out delay  and  with  perfect  safety.  The  Dock  gates 
and  bridges  are  opened  and  closed  by  hydraulic 
power,  and  eight  powerful  capstans  are  provided  at 
the  outer  and  inner  gates  for  the  vessels  passing  in 
and  out.  The  whole  is  leased  to  the  Taff  Vale  Rail- 
way Company  for  a  term  of  999  years.  What  will 
be  the  state  of  the  congeries  of  ports  and  boroughs 
that  form  the  Cardiff  district  ten  centuries  hence  ? 

The  place  is  fortunate  in  having,  besides  its 
docks  and  the  usual  seaside  distractions,  an  un- 
expected, delightfully  appointed  little  picture- 
gallery  at  Turner  House.  It  was  given  to  Penarth 
by  the  late  Mr.  Pyke  Thompson,  who  had  formed 


PENARTH  HEAD  85 

the  collection  originally  for  his  own  pleasure.  His 
idea  was  to  form  a  gallery  mainly  of  British 
painters,  which  should  be  small,  choice  and  com- 
plete in  itself,  and  so  finely  arranged  that  every 
picture  should  be  given  wall-space  and  light 
sufficient  to  individualise  it.  The  gallery  is 
interesting  to  amateurs  and  hunters  of  the  pic- 
turesque in  South  Wales  because  of  the  Welsh 
scenes  on  the  walls.  Among  these  may  be  noted 
the  view  of  Penarth  Point  in  the  lobby,  and  the 
picture  of  Swansea  Bay  by  Penry  Williams.  In 
the  main  gallery  upstairs  there  are  pictures  of 
Ludlow  Castle,  Harlech  Castle  and  Dryslwyn  Castle 
by  David  Cox.  There  are  two  exquisite  little 
Boningtons  too  in  the  upstairs-room,  which  carry 
us  to  English  places  :  and  a  few  well-chosen  Meryon 
etchings  to  recall  French  art,  including  some  in 
fine  state  of  the  Notre-Dame  series.  The  gallery, 
small  as  it  is,  and  partly  because  it  is  small, 
makes  an  unusually  complete  impression  on  the 
sense  of  the  man  who,  tired  of  the  villas  and 
seaside  frippery  of  the  place,  retreats  within  its 
shelter ;  and  Penarth  may  well  be  proud  of  Turner 
House  and  grateful  to  its  giver,  who,  wise  man, 
stipulated  as  a  condition  of  the  bequest  that  it 
should  be  open  on  Sundays. 

Returning  to  the  coast,  we  ought  to  note  that 
the  Penarth  Beds,  including  the  Upper  and  White 
Lias  and  the  Lower,  or  Black,  Lias,  provide  good 
sport  in  the  way  of  pectens  and  other  remains. 
And  it  is  not  only  the  Lias  that  is  well  placed  for 
fossil-hunting  between  Penarth  and  Lavernock. 
Along  the  same  range  of  cliffs  may  be  seen 
beneath  the  Lias  at  two  places,  nearing  Laver- 
nock, the  New  Red  and  so-called  "Tea-green" 
Marls,  whose  name  helps  to  describe  them.  The 


86  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Marls,  red  and  green,  may  be  examined,  too,  on 
Sully  and  Barry  Islands,  where  the  rock  serves. 
The  best  hunting  of  all  is  to  be  had,  as  a  local 
collector  has  told  us,  at  Lavernock  Point  itself. 
There  is  a  particular  "  patchy  bed  much  worn 
and  torn  by  water,"  made  up  of  jasper  and  quartz 
and  pebbles  and  nodules  and  other  stony  things, 
from  which  you  may  dig  out  bones  of  two  kinds 
of  Plesiosaurus,  and  relics  of  that  extravagant 
monster  Ichthyosaurus,  and  spines  of  Hybodus. 
These  may  tell  you  what  saurians,  sea-gods,  and 
little  fishes  once  knew  Lavernock  and  all  this 
corner  of  the  Welsh  coast. 

As  you  walk  round  the  coast  from  Lavernock 
you  pass  the  island  of  Sully.  Unluckily  the  coast 
walk  is  here  and  there  interrupted  by  private 
grounds  ;  and  low  tide  does  not  much  better  the 
adventure,  as  the  beach  can  only  be  followed  with 
difficulty,  the  way  being  rough  and  rather  un- 
pleasant. At  Sully  a  keen  naturalist  and  observer, 
the  late  Dean  Conybeare  (Dean  of  Llandaff,  where 
he  lies  buried),  was  for  a  long  time  rector.  Barry 
Island  is,  we  should  add,  still  ecclesiastically  a 
part  of  the  parish  of  Sully,  whose  church,  much 
restored,  has  an  old  piscina  to  show  and  three 
tombs  on  the  right  of  the  chancel  to  the  Thomases 
of  Llwyn  Madoc.  A  scant  fragment  of  the  Castle 
of  Sully  is  all  that  is  now  left.  Sully  Sound 
reached,  the  rocks  must  be  crossed  at  low  water 
if  the  island  is  to  be  explored.  There  is  a  pool 
at  the  westerly  end ;  and  near  the  last  point  are 
the  remains  of  a  Danish  fort,  with  a  burial  mound 
to  the  right  of  it.  From  Swanbridge  the  cliffs 
westward  can  be  followed  toward  Barry. 

The  Welsh  name  for  Sully — that  is,  the  village — 
is  Abersili,  because  Nant  Sili  flows  out  to  the  sea 


PENARTH  HEAD  87 

here.  Sully,  so  declares  local  gossip,  is  an  English 
version  of  "Sili,"  a  Welsh  term  for  trickling,  or, 
rather,  spurting  and  hissing,  water ;  and  there  is 
also  a  Norse  explanation  (natural  enough,  seeing 
that  there  is  the  Danish  camp  to  suggest  it)  which 
declares  that  Sully  means  "the  ploughed  island." 
But  Sully  was  the  name,  too,  of  the  Norman 
knight  who  settled  here  on  Fitzhamon's  allotment 
of  Glamorganshire  ;  so  you  can  take  your  choice 
of  the  three.  Swanbridge,  like  Swansea,  may  have 
been  called  after  Sweyn,  the  great  Danish  sea- 
rover,  who  perished  in  877. 

You  may  think  that  the  building  of  the  huge 
docks  at  this  corner  of  the  Glamorgan  seafront 
and  the  deepening  of  the  sea-approaches  were 
bound  more  or  less  to  alter  the  old  conditions 
of  navigation.  But  if  you  talk  to  a  seaman  who 
intimately  knows  the  Bristol  Channel  and  its 
shoals  and  tides,  you  will  find  it  has  not  quite 
lost  its  old  tricks.  He  can  tell  you  about  the 
islands  and  covered  rocks ;  not  so  much  about 
Sully  and  Barry  Islands  perhaps,  but  Flatholm, 
Steepholm  and  Lundy  too.  Walking  the  fore- 
shore, he  still  looks  at  everything  from  the 
mariner's  point  of  view.  He  remembers  well 
a  coarse  night  on  the  Welsh  Grounds,  "thirty 
years  ago,  last  March,"  when  his  vessel  was  all 
but  bumped  to  pieces.  The  Welsh  Grounds,  it 
should  be  said,  stretch  roughly  from  about  Sud- 
brooke  Chapel  to  the  mouth  of  the  Usk.  They 
are  nearly  all  uncovered  at  low  water  after  a 
spring  tide.  The  south-west  spit  of  these  sands 
is  a  particularly  nasty  one,  for  the  flood-tide 
sweeps  over  it  into  Newport  deep  at  a  great 
pace.  At  high  water  smaller  vessels  sail  over  the 
Grounds,  but  woe  to  the  ship  of  any  deeper 


88  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

draught  that  gets  on  to  them  on  a  dirty  night 
The  Cardiff  Grounds,  again,  make  a  long  narrow 
shoal,  which  is  changing  all  the  while.  When 
you  spy  Lavernock  Point  from  the  sea,  you  see 
it  as  a  sort  of  elbow  in  the  shore-line,  and  a 
white  church  or  chapel  and  a  farmhouse  just 
over  the  brink  of  the  bold  cliff.  Steepholm  Island 
makes  a  break  in  the  Channel  out  of  proportion 
to  its  size  on  the  chart,  because  of  its  high,  steep 
shore  east  and  west.  The  island  rises  at  one  pitch 
237  feet  above  sea-level.  It  has  a  sly,  two-and-a- 
half  fathom  shelf  running  out  to  four  cables  too, 
which  has  to  be  avoided.  Flatholm  lies  about  a 
league  nearer  the  Welsh  coast ;  it  too  has  a  light- 
house with  red  and  white  occulting  lights.  The 
"  Wolves,"  which  lie  eight  cables  north-west  of 
Flatholm,  are  to  Cardiff  vessels  more  dangerous 
than  either  of  the  Holms  :  they  are  three  rocky 
heads,  the  most  wolvish  of  which  sticks  a  five- 
foot-long  snout  out  of  the  water  at  low  tide. 
Two  buoys,  black  and  white  and  red  and  white, 
mark  them. 


CHAPTER  IX 

BARRY  ISLAND — PORTHKERRY  AND  KERl'S  DAUGH- 
TER-—FONTYGARRY  AND  ABERTHAW 

To  Sully  succeeds  Barry  Island,  which  you  can 
easily  reach  by  the  Barry  Railway  without  wan- 
dering thither  via  the  coast-line  and  the  cliffs 
of  Lavernock  and  the  sea-waste  beyond.  Barry 
would  be  very  much  like  a  second  Penarth,  because 
of  its  mixture  of  titanic  docks  and  suburban  villas, 
were  it  not  for  the  island,  once  a  sandy  solitude 
and  pirates'  run,  now  in  process  of  being  tamed  by 
the  house-builder  and  his  brick-terraces.  The  miles 
of  streets  and  houses,  scattered  apparently  at  ran- 
dom on  the  road  from  Cardiff,  have  pushed  their 
way  now  upon  the  island  itself :  Cadoxton  merges 
itself  in  Barry  Dock,  and  Barry  Dock  in  Barry 
town,  while  the  island  serves  all  three  places  as  a 
kind  of  sea-suburb.  Once  this  was  all  a  wild 
warren,  with  here  and  there  a  farm  or  a  few 
cottages,  and  with  more  rabbits  than  men  for 
tenantry.  The  rabbits  one  mostly  sees  now  are 
those  hung  up  by  the  heels  at  the  poulterers' 
in  Barry  streets.  As  for  the  harbour,  it  is  claimed 
by  its  engineers  that  it  is  the  finest  of  all  the  big 
Severn  Sea  series.  It  lies  under  the  land,  well 
sheltered  from  all  westerly  and  south-westerly 
winds.  The  breakwaters  completely  cover  the  only 

89 


90  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

points  of  exposure,  say  to  the  southward,  with  a 
sea  range  of  fourteen  miles,  and  to  the  south-east 
with  a  sea  range  of  sixteen  miles.  The  Docks  thus 
have  their  entrance  in  a  well-guarded  position ;  a 
ship  leaving  them  is  in  a  few  minutes  in  what  sailors 
call  "  blue  water,"  and  is  not  exposed  to  the  trouble- 
some navigation  which  at  Cardiff  and  Penarth  is 
conducted  for  from  two  to  three  miles  through 
an  artificial  channel  (cut  through  the  mud  flats), 
which  channel  is  nearly  dry  at  low  water.  There 
is  good  anchorage  ground  extending  from  Barry 
Island  to  Sully  Island,  three  miles  to  the  eastward. 

One  of  the  Docks  looks  almost  a  mile  long  with  a 
width  proportionate — a  titanic  thing.  It  is  ap- 
proached by  a  passage  closed  by  a  caisson,  and  at 
its  east  end  are  two  huge  Timber  Ponds  with  a 
railway  alongside,  so  that  timber  can  be  loaded 
direct  from  the  ponds  into  the  railway  wagons. 

The  waterway  between  the  breakwater  heads 
is  over  a  hundred  yards  wide,  and  the  Channel  is 
lighted  after  dark  by  a  flashing  white  light  of  the 
fifth  order,  in  a  trim  lighthouse ;  the  space  inside 
the  breakwaters  affords  shelter  for  pilot-boats, 
tugs,  and  small  craft  attendant  upon  the  Docks. 
Barry  is  the  only  port  in  the  British  Channel 
which  vessels  can  use  freely,  coming  and  going 
at  any  state  of  the  tide.  The  great  wrought-iron 
water-gates  at  the  outer,  and  Dock,  passages  are 
moved  by  great  hydraulic  rams,  strong  enough  to 
hold  the  gates  rigid  while  opening  and  closing. 

Barry  Island  was  formerly  a  notorious  haunt  of 
"  runners  "  and  smugglers  ;  and  many  tales  could  be 
told  of  the  days,  well  over  a  hundred  years  ago, 
when  the  island  was  described  as  "  the  Fortress  of 
Knight,  the  Notorious  Smugler."  Some  idea  of  it, 
and  of  Knight  and  his  doings,  may  be  had  from 


BARRY  ISLAND  91 

the  Cardiff  Custom  House  papers,  which  Mr. 
Hobson  Mathews  ransacked  for  his  second  volume 
of  the  Cardiff  Records.  There  we  read  how  "  the 
desperate  Rufflns  at  Barry  Island "  had  a  vessel 
with  the  name  John  of  Combe  painted  on  her 
stern.  And  in  1784,  on  April  3rd,  we  hear  of  Thomas 
Knight's  running  successfully  a  cargo  of  wine,  by 
persuading  the  tide-waiters  and  excisemen  that  it 
was  to  remain  on  the  island,  and  then  spiriting 
it  away — no  doubt  to  supply  Cardiff  and  its  cus- 
tomers. However,  the  Custom  House  officers  made 
Barry  Island  too  hot  for  Knight ;  for  in  1785  he 
had  retired  to  Lundy,  after  having  been  driven 
from  Barry.  His  "  armed  brig,"  it  is  added,  being 
no  longer  at  hand  to  support  the  smugglers,  their 
ill-trade  has  much  declined.  "  When  his  armed 
vessel  was  there,  he  was  in  such  Force  that  it  was 
impossible  to  approach  the  Island."  In  1798,  we 
are  told  of  a  large  take  of  brandy  and  port  wine 
again  on  Barry  Island.  The  smugglers  found  the 
island  very  well  arranged  for  their  favourite  game 
of  hide-and-seek  with  the  excisemen.  "  At  Barry, 
'tis  the  same  case  ;  if  they  find  the  officer  on  the 
Island,  they'll  land  the  other  side  of  the  Harbour,' 
or  vice  versa,  in  which  case  "  the  officers  can't  get 
over  till  the  tide  is  out,  which  may  be  5  or  6 
hours  ;  and  there  is  so  much  cover  on  the  Iseland, 
and  such  conveniencys  for  hiding  of  goods,  that  an 
officer  has  but  a  poor  chance  to  meet  with  'em  after 
they  are  landed." 

But  Barry  was  an  Isle  of  the  Saints,  long  before 
it  was  adopted  by  the  Severn  sea-rovers  of  a  later 
day.  If  on  reaching  the  island  you  turn  up  the 
new  thoroughfare  of  Newell  Street,  leaving  a  few 
shops  in  a  terrace  and  a  new  chapel,  on  the  right, 
you  soon  reach,  on  the  left,  the  railway  and  the  old 


92  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

walls  that  mark  the  site  of  St.  Baruch's  Chapel,  now 
carefully  preserved.  All  that  is  to  be  seen  of  it,  as 
it  lies  rather  below  the  level  of  the  road,  can  be 
seen  very  well  through  the  fence. 

In  Rees's  laves  of  the  Cambro-British  Saints 
we  read  that  St.  Cadoc  lived  in  two  islands,  Barreu 
and  Echni — the  latter  being  no  doubt  Flat  Holme ; 
and  there  is  a  strange  story  of  his  crossing  by  boat 
between  the  two,  with  two  of  his  disciples — one  of 
whom  was  Baruc.  But  these  two,  unluckily,  forgot 
to  bring  Cadoc's  Enchiridion  with  them  from 
Echni,  and  he  sent  them  back,  and  on  the  second 
crossing  they  were  drowned — Cadoc  seeing  the 
disaster  from  the  high  ground  on  Barry  Isle.  The 
body  of  Baruc,  being  recovered,  was  buried  on  the 
island :  it  may  have  been  one  of  the  innumerable 
dead  interred  near  his  chapel.  The  miraculous 
element  in  the  tale  is  supplied  by  the  catching  of  a 
salmon,  to  appease  Cadoc's  hunger  after  long 
fasting,  and  the  finding  of  the  lost  Enchiridion  in 
the  fish's  belly. 

Gerald  de  Barri  tells  us  the  island  was  called 
after  St.  Baruch,  and  he  was  buried  in  "  a  chapel 
covered  with  ivy."  The  De  Barris,  he  adds,  took 
their  name  from  the  island — a  manifest  old  family 
fiction.  St.  Baruch  has  been  placed  in  various 
centuries:  he  belonged  to  the  sixth.  Before  him 
we  have  Peiro,  who  was  a  pietist,  but  hardly  pious : 
and  then  Samson,  of  Llantwit  Major  fame :  both  as 
residents  in  the  religious  settlement.  Trenches  cut 
in  exploring  St.  Baruch's  Chapel  showed  that  the 
burials  under  and  around  it  had  been  on  an  extra- 
ordinary scale.  Like  Bardsey,  it  seems  to  have 
been  a  holy  island  ;  and  the  bodies  of  the  elect  were 
exhumed  and  brought  here  from  afar. 
The  one  guide  to  Barry  Island,  who  knew  every 


BARRY  ISLAND  93 

nook  and  corner  of  it,  unearthed  its  fragments  of 
antiquity  and  thoroughly  explored  its  rocks  and 
plants,  was  the  late  John  Storrie,  the  naturalist. 
He  loved  the  wild  place  and  its  wild  flowers,  and 
collected  over  three  hundred  kinds  in  all,  and  he 
put  them  all,  and  much  more,  into  his  knowledge- 
able small  book  about  the  island.  Many  flowers 
remain  in  spite  of  the  Docks  and  the  building  over 
of  the  nooks  where  once  grew  the  milk- vetch, 
the  true  marshmallow,  the  henbane,  and  their 
congeners. 

There  is  a  gently-sloping,  smooth-sanded  bathing 
beach  at  Barry  Island,  in  the  curve  of  Whitmore 
(or  Wick  More)  Bay.  Round  the  rocks  of  Friars 
Point — the  point  which  forms  the  right-hand  or 
western  horn  of  the  Bay — is  the  famous  Pebble 
Beach  which  lined  the  eastern  shore  of  Barry 
Harbour,  as  it  used  to  be :  a  harbour  which  did  not 
collect  much  shipping  beyond  a  stray  ketch  or  so. 
The  "  harbour"  is  now  a  blind  one,  ending  in  the 
embankment  across  which  the  western  road  to  the 
island  runs.  The  opposite  head,  to  the  west,  across 
the  harbour  mouth,  is  Coldknap  Point.  Looking 
west  from  the  Point,  you  have  one  of  the  drowned 
places  of  the  Welsh  coast  within  reach.  For  there 
stood  once  the  strong  tower  and  water-gate  of 
Porthkerry  Castle,  some  of  whose  foundation  walls 
could  still  be  traced  at  low  tide  a  generation  ago. 
At  Coldknap  Point  you  can  see,  whether  the  tide  is 
in  or  out,  the  still  older  walls  which  form  this  part 
of  the  coast,  and  which  are  here  formed  of  protru- 
ding buttresses,  built  of  carboniferous  limestone, 
above  the  ramparts  of  the  Lias. 

One  of  the  most  inviting  sylvan  roads  in  all 
Glamorganshire  is  that  leading  down  to  Porthkerry 
Park.  When  you  have  escaped  on  the  brow  of  the 


94  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

hill  the  last  Barry  villas,  you  soon  pass  the  old 
farmstead  of  Castle  Farm,  with  the  adjacent 
remains  of  the  gateway  to  show  the  fine  outlook 
seaward  of  the  ancient  Castle  of  Barry.  There- 
away the  road  bends  northward,  and,  reaching  the 
brink  of  Cwm  Barry,  descends  the  wooded  slopes 
of  Coed  yr  Odyn,  amid  a  scene  that  might  be  miles 
from  any  street  or  town,  and  leagues  away  from 
the  sea.  The  change  from  the  suburban  terraces 
of  Barry  to  this  unspoilt  wooded  cwm  is  sudden  and 
delightful.  And  there  is  nothing  to  break  the  illu- 
sion on  the  way  to  Porthkerry,  through  the  Park, 
until  one  comes  to  the  tall  viaduct  of  the  railway 
under  which  one  must  pass  on  the  way.  The  lower 
park-lands,  set  with  fine  timber  in  a  green  amphi- 
theatre, make  (or  still  made  when  I  last  saw  them) 
one  of  the  fairest  woodland  scenes  imaginable. 
Leaving  the  Park,  the  road,  or  lane  (for  it  is  no 
more),  climbs  again  the  western  side  of  the  cwm, 
and  meets  another  road  at  an  old  thatched  home- 
stead, with  beehives  in  the  garden  and  an  orchard 
flanking  the  house.  The  road  to  Porthkerry  Church 
and  the  sea  lies  then  on  the  left ;  but  you  must  not 
expect  a  seaport  now  at  Porthkerry ;  for  its  few 
houses  are  scattered  and  you  are  apt  to  find  your- 
self at  last  on  the  way  to  Rhoose,  while  still  looking 
for  an  imaginary  Porthkerry  street  and  its  shops. 

Porthkerry  was  one  of  the  old  legendary 
harbours  of  South  Wales  and  a  momentous  spot 
in  the  records  of  the  Coming  of  the  Normans. 
Here  Fitzhamon  and  his  men  apparently  landed 
in  1093.  The  curious  account  given  of  it  by 
Rice  Merrick  in  his  JBooke  of  Antiquities  has 
been  quoted  in  an  earlier  page.  We  might  do 
worse  than  spend  an  afternoon  here,  fresh  from 
Barry  Dock,  trying  to  reconstruct  the  rude  sea- 


BARRY  ISLAND  95 

fortress  and  old  Caer  of  Porthkerry  before  the 
Normans'  time,  for  one  would  give  much  to  see  a 
real  Welsh  port  of  the  tenth  or  eleventh  century. 
You  cannot  but  notice  at  once  that  the  wooded 
confines  of  Porthkerry  and  Coed  yr  Odyn  offered 
a  campus  and  mustering-place  in  which  to  form 
the  newly  landed  Normans,  and  arrange  plans 
for  the  surprise  of  the  forces  of  Rhys.  Porth- 
kerry takes  its  name  from  Ceri,  or  St.  Curig, 
around  whose  history,  first  as  a  soldier,  then  as 
a  saint,  some  wild  legends  have  been  woven. 
Curig  Lwyd,  sometimes  called  Curig  the  Knight, 
figures  in  many  Welsh  traditions.  Capel  Curig 
in  Snowdon  and  Llangurig  are  his  best-known 
church-dedications  in  Wales,  and  he  had  several 
in  Brittany.  As  for  Porthkerry,  the  lolo  MSS. 
(not  always  the  best  authority)  say,  "  St.  Cirig 
founded  Porthcirig  for  the  benefit  of  the  souls 
of  sailors  and  as  a  port  for  them."  Another 
document  makes  Ceri  ab  Caid  its  real  founder. 
A  ballad-writer  has  laid  the  scene  here,  and  in 
the  neighbouring  Glamorgan  hill  and  valley  lands, 
of  the  nightly  rides  of  Ceri  ab  Caid's  daughter, 
who  was  mysterious  in  her  flight  like  "Mallt  y 
Nos,"  first  cousin  of  the  moth.  The  ballad,  what- 
ever its  foundation  in  folk-lore,  gains  in  reality 
by  being  read  at  Porthkerry  and  related  to  the 
hills  of  Morganwg. 

KEEI'S  DAUGHTER. 

i. 

Alone  I  go  a-hunting,  when  all  their  hunting's  done, 
To  follow  Keri's  daughter  in  the  footsteps  of  the  sun. 
She  drowses  all  the  day  thro',  she  wakens  with  the  moth  ; 
And  shakes  out  her  black  tresses  from  their  crimson  bind- 
ing cloth. 


96  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Their  beauty  that  she  braided  falls  loose  now  to  her  knees, 
As  she  goes  to  her  window,  and  wonders  at  the  trees. 
Her  eyes  shine  in  the  shadow,  grown  opal-like,  and  change 
Like  pools  that  fill  with  starlight  when  other  lights  grow 

strange. 

Now  on  the  stair,  bare-footed,  she  stays  to  gird  her  gown, 
That  it  may  let  the  briers  be  ; — and  lightly  she  goes  down. 
What  fate's  on  Keri's  daughter,  to  wake  when  all  is  done, 
And  follow  where  the  sun  went  but  never  see  the  sun? 
What  fate's  on  me  to  follow  along  the  fields  of  night, 
The  feet  of  Keri's  daughter,  yet  never  cross  her  sight? 

II. 

The  wind  is  her  white  brachet,  to  course  the  wood  with  her. 
Where  the  oak  trees  are  tall,  and  the  lone  stars  lean  near. 
The  oak  leaves  cannot  keep  her,  her  white  hound  draws 

her  on  : 
The  livelong  night,  they  range   the  night,   until  the  night 

is  done. 
I    ride    into    the    mid-wood,    and    wait.     What    fragrance 

clings 

Upon  the  dreaming  fernleaf,  and  the  muffled,  drowsy  things. 
Is  that  an  owl  upon  the  hill,  or  is  it  her  white  hound, 
To   tell   me   I   must   leave    the   wood,   and   follow   at   the 

sound  ? 

But  when  we  reach  the  hilltop,  we  hear  them  in  the  wood  ; 
And  when  we  turn,  we  turn  too  late,  the  moorland  is  her 

mood.* 

The  Barry  Railway  has  a  station  at  Bhoose, 
which,  after  the  fashion  of  places  newly  visited 
by  a  railway,  shows  signs  of  growing  out  of  a 
sleepy  hamlet  and  building  houses  and  hotels 
to  attract  the  crowd.  The  nearest  sands  are  at 
Fontygarry,  and  the  station  lies  between.  As  one 
passes  through  the  village,  one  catches  sight  of 
an  apparent  old  market  cross  on  a  stone-stepped 

*  For  the  continuing  stanzas,  see  Lays  of  the  Rownd 
Table,  1905. 


BARRY  ISLAND  97 

base ;  but  it  proves,  on  a  nearer  approach,  to 
be  the  village  pump.  The  name  of  Rhoose  is 
simply  the  Welsh  Rhos — a  marsh  meadow, 
which  figures  so  often  in  Welsh  place-names. 
The  wreckers  of  Rhoose  were  notorious  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  watched  the  coast  like 
hawks  from  Barry  to  Dunraven,  using  false  lights 
to  lure  on  any  unlucky  craft  that  happened  to 
be  out  of  its  bearings.  They  kept  up  a  brisk 
smuggling  trade,  too,  with  the  coast  of  France. 
In  George  the  Second's  reign  detachments  of 
soldiers  were  sent  secretly  and  landed  at  Barry 
and  Aberthaw,  at  the  request  of  the  then  Master 
of  Fonmon,  to  try  and  take  the  ringleaders  of 
the  smuggling  and  wrecking  gang. 

From  Rhoose  it  is  but  a  short  mile  to  Fonty- 
garry.  The  farmhouse  of  Fontygarry,  greenly 
embowered,  is  reached  in  a  dip  of  the  road  on  the 
right ;  a  house  where  John  Wesley  once  made 
a  stay  on  his  Welsh  journeys. 

From  Fontygarry  to  Aberthaw  is  another  mile 
and  a  half.  Aberthaw,  once  a  well-known  little 
seaport,  still  keeps  much  of  the  good  old  style 
of  the  genuine  Glamorgan  village  about  it,  with 
thatched  roofs  and  thick-walled  cottages.  The 
river  has  become  sanded  up  to  an  impracticable 
extent  for  shipping  now,  and  only  a  few  stray 
ketches  and  small  vessels  put  into  the  port. 
Formerly  it  was  a  favourite  landing-place  for 
"  run  "  goods. 

In  1734  the  Cardiff  Custom  House  officers 
reported  to  London  that  "when  any  boats  goes 
out  to  'em"  [i.e.,  the  smugglers]  "the  owners  of  'em 
have  always  a  spye  on  the  officer ;  and  when  they 
find  him  of  one  side  of  the  river  at  Aberthaw, 
they'll  land  what  they  have  of  the  other ;  and 

7 


98  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

by  reason  there's  no  Boat  in  the  Service,  nor  any 
boat  on  those  accosts  to  be  had  for  love  or  money, 
and  the  officer  obliged  to  go  to  a  bridge  about  two 
Miles  round,  they  have  time  enough  to  secure 
the  goods  before  he  can  get  there.  Nay,  there  is 
instances  that  they  have  run'd  goods  in  the  day 
time  before  the  officers'  face  in  this  Manner." 
How  horrible  to  contemplate  ! 

Not  far  from  Aberthaw  is  the  village  of  St. 
Athan  and  the  site  of  West  Orchard  Castle,  once 
the  scene  of  an  extraordinary  tragedy,  still 
haunted  by  a  sad  remembering  spirit.  In  the 
early  summer  mornings,  before  the  dew  is  off  the 
grass,  a  lady  in  white  silken  robes  is  seen  to  pass 
slowly  round  and  round  a  particular  spot.  The 
reason  of  her  appearance  was  a  strange  and  tragic 
one. 

"Many  centuries  ago,  Sir  Jasper  Birkrolles 
married  a  daughter  of  the  powerful  house  of 
De  Clair,  who  were  Lords  of  Glamorgan.  When 
Sir  Jasper  came  back  from  the  Second  Crusade 
enemies  whispered  in  his  ear  that  his  wife  had 
been  unfaithful  to  him  during  his  absence.  Lady 
Birkrolles  vainly  protested  her  innocence,  her 
husband  passed  a  savage  sentence  upon  her. 

"In  a  field  not  far  from  the  Castle  he  had  a 
deep  hole  dug.  There  his  beautiful  wife  was  to 
be  buried  up  to  her  neck  and  suffer  death  from 
slow  starvation.  She  was  not  to  have  a  crumb 
of  bread  nor  a  drop  of  water,  in  that  hole  she 
was  to  linger  till  she  died. 

"  Lady  Birkrolles  happened  to  have  a  sister,  and 
this  daughter  of  De  Glair's  begged  that  she  might 
visit  her  sister  once  a  day  at  least.  The  cruel 
husband  consented,  provided  that  she  carried 
neither  food  nor  drink  with  her.  At  dawn  every 


BARRY  ISLAND  99 

day  the  girl  visited  her  miserable  sister.  Up  and 
down  the  grass  she  trailed  her  long  silk  dress, 
that  the  miserable  prisoner  might  suck  moisture 
from  the  wet  folds.  For  ten  days  Lady  Birkrolles 
lived  on  this  slender  refreshment.  On  the  tenth 
she  died.  A  short  while  after  her  innocence  was 
proved,  and  the  wretched  Sir  Jasper  died  raving 
mad." 

It  is  said  that  as  late  as  1863  women  who  went 
milking  in  the  early  morning  said  they  often  saw 
a  beautiful  lady  dressed  in  white  going  round  and 
round  a  particular  spot  in  the  field,  they  could 
not  tell  why. 


CHAPTER  X 

LLANTWIT  MAJOR — ST.  ILLTYD :  A  KNIGHT  OF  THE 
GRAIL— ST.  DONAT'S 

THINKING  of  Illtyd  the  Breton  Knight,  you  reach 
Llantwit  to-day  to  feel  bewildered  by  its  mixed 
airs  of  change  and  unchange.  Modern  shops  stare 
down  the  streets  at  some  mediaeval  inn,  like  the 
"  Old  White  Swan "  ;  and  the  latest  generation  is 
seen  mounting  the  steps  of  a  time-honoured  build- 
ing, once  the  old  Town  Hall,  that  became  the 
National  School.  But  those  who  go  to  Llantwit 
must  not  expect  majestic  ruins  or  a  towering 
antiquity  like  Tintern  Abbey.  Its  wonders  are 
half  secret,  and  ask  more  of  the  pilgrim  than  an 
hour's  idle  curiosity.  Otherwise,  he  may  go  away 
disappointed,  even  when  all  is  seen — the  church, 
the  sloping  churchyard  with  its  graves,  and 
the  adjacent  half-obliterated  traces  of  all  that 
monastic  settlement,  with  its  corn  mill,  barn, 
dove-cot,  guest-house,  and  prior's  lodging,  which 
once  stood  in  the  shallow  vale  of  Odnant. 

The  old  Town  Hall  was  still  in  use  as  a  school  on 
my  last  visit.  If  the  outer  steps  are  ascended  to 
the  upper  part  of  the  building,  the  door  will 
usually  be  found  on  the  latch ;  but  there  is  little 
to  be  seen  within,  unless  it  is  in  school  hours, 

when  the  spectacle  of  the  school  children  at  their 

100 


LLANTWIT  MAJOR  101 

tasks,  and  the  hum  of  their  voices,  may  call  to 
mind  that  older  school  of  divinity  which  once 
made  Llantwit  famous.  Leaving  the  Town  Hall 
on  your  left,  you  soon  reach  the  church,  well  sunk 
in  its  hollow  so  as  to  be  out  of  sight  of  the 
marauding  Black  Pagans.  The  brook  Ogney 
afforded  in  its  tiny  valley  just  so  much  shelter  as 
invited  the  early  monks  to  make  their  abode  here. 
As  at  St.  David's,  where  the  brook  in  the  Vale  of 
Roses  offered  another  such  hollow,  the  course  of 
the  small  stream  shows  the  line  along  which  the 
monastic  settlement  and  rude  enclosures  and 
wattle-huts  were  placed  ;  to  give  way  in  course 
of  time  to  solid  stone.  Church  and  churchyard  at 
Llantwit  are  full  of  these  reminders.  The  church 
stands  deep  below  the  road,  and  steps  and  a 
slant  path  lead  to  the  east-end  of  what  is  called 
the  New  Church,  which  is  now  in  use.  As  you 
approach  it,  the  old  crosses  and  ancient  monu- 
ments on  the  slope,  no  longer  tell  of  the  ages 
of  its  history ;  they  now  stand  within  the 
walls.  St.  Illtyd's  Stone,  one  of  a  series  of  three 
erected,  or  caused  to  be  erected,  by  Samson, 
counts  first  because  it  is  after  St.  Itttyd  that 
Llantwit  is  called ;  "  Llan  Illtyd "  having  gradu- 
ally been  corrupted  into  its  present  form. 
Illtyd's  church  of  wattle  and  clay  stood,  perhaps, 
where  what  is  now  known  as  the  Old  Church 
stands,  west  of  the  building  in  use.  His  monu- 
ment was  carved  by  Samuel,  the  stonecarver, 
who  has  a  claim  thus  to  be  the  Father  of  Welsh 
sculptors.  Samson's  two  other  memorial  stones 
used  to  stand  Jby  the  porch  of  the  western  church. 
The  Celtic  tracery  on  the  finer  of  the  two  is  most 
beautiful.  The  eastern  building,  despite  its  name 
of  the  New  Church,  may  look  older  than  the  un- 


102  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

cared-for  Old  Church ;  but  there  is  little  doubt 
that  the  latter  name  really  perpetuates  the  site  of 
the  first  church  of  all.  Freeman's  idea  was  that 
the  so-called  Old  Church  was  the  parish  church, 
and  the  so-called  New  Church  was  attached  to  the 
monastery.  The  church  now  in  use  is  a  thirteenth- 
century  building,  with  some  alterations ;  and  it 
has  a  Norman  font.  The  frescoes  in  the  chancel 
represent  Mary  Magdalene  and  the  Saviour,  and 
the  Fall  of  Man.  The  "  Old  Church,"  a  late  four- 
teenth-century recast,  has  become  a  kind  of 
mysterious  sculptor's  gallery.  Its  sermons  are 
carved  stones,  among  them  the  Cross  of  Howell, 
whose  inscription  appears  to  run :  "  In  the  name 
of  God  the  Father  and  the  Son  and  Holy  Ghost, 
Howell  raised  this  cross  for  the  soul  of  his  father 
Rhys."  Howell  was  a  Prince  of  Morganwg,  a 
couple  of  hundred  years  before  the  Normans 
invaded  it. 

Beyond  the  Old  Church  is  the  ruined  Lady,  or 
Galilee,  Chapel,  a  fifteenth-century  building,  and 
beyond  that  again,  and  on  the  south-west  corner 
of  the  churchyard,  we  see  the  remains  of  a  fine  old 
fourteenth-century  house,  used  in  its  latter  days  as 
a  mill,  it  is  said  :  and  to  judge  by  its  position  above 
the  brook  Ogney,  built  to  grind  corn  for  the 
monastery  here,  whose  buildings  must  at  one  time 
have  almost  completely  hemmed  in  the  church  and 
churchyard.  Across  the  brook,  and  on  the  rising 
ground  above,  there  is  a  poor  fragment  of  a  gate- 
house, but  the  great  tithe-barn  is  gone,  which  fed 
the  mill.  It  had  a  particularly  good  oak  roof,  well 
preserved,  and  was,  sixty  years  ago,  as  fine  an  old 
church  barn  as  could  be  seen.  The  Dean  and 
Chapter  of  Gloucester  sold  the  oak  roof  for  a  mere 
song ;  and  the  building  that  might  have  served 


LLANTWIT  MAJOR  103 

the  community  for  long  as  an  interesting  old  land- 
mark went  to  rack  and  ruin.  So  I  was  told  by  an 
old  standard  of  the  place. 

Save  for  the  stones  of  Illtyd  and  Samson  and 
other  noble  fragments  not  too  easy  to  identify, 
nearly  all  we  see  at  Llantwit  was,  it  is  needless  to 
say,  built  long  after  the  early  days  of  the  Celtic 
church.  The  ecclesiastical  buildings  grew  all 
through  the  Middle  Ages,  when  Llantwit  counted 
as  one  of  the  chief  religious  centres  in  South 
Wales.  Thus  it  continued  right  into  Tudor  times, 
when  the  town  waxed  in  turn,  as  you  are 
driven  to  conclude  in  exploring  the  township 
and  adjacencies. 

The  village-town  lies  about  a  mile  from  the  sea  ; 
and  the  last  part  of  the  way  thither  lies  through 
a  cwm,  shut  in  between  wild  coverts  and  grassy 
banks,  like  a  cwm  far  inland.  You  go  slowly 
meandering  through  it,  like  a  man  in  a  dream ; 
and  if  it  is  a  calm  day,  you  forget  the  sea,  until, 
getting  to  its  lower  end,  you  see  salt  scurf  and  bits 
of  seaweed  on  the  grass.  A  rough  rampart  of 
earth  and  stone  shuts  off  the  seaward  view  :  when 
you  clamber  over  this,  you  find  the  pebbles  of  the 
beach  banked  high  against  it.  If  the  tide  is  low 
you  can  get  round  the  cliffs,  which  are  from  70  to 
90  or  100  feet  high,  and  on  to  the  great  slabs  of 
smooth  limestone,  stretched  flat  at  your  feet. 
Over  these  roll  rounded  stones,  like  rejected 
cannon-balls  ;  while  deep  fissures  and  melancholy 
caves  have  eaten  here  and  there  into  the  lime- 
stone. There  is  something  at  once  alluring  and 
forbidding  in  the  coast  at  this  point.  It  is  best  to 
be  seen  with  a  flowing  tide  and  a  strong  sou'- 
westerly  wind ;  when  the  cannon-balls  roll  clank- 
ing about,  mixed  with  wrack  from  lost  ships. 


104  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

One  day,  we  were  caught  by  the  tide,  and 
penned  in  a  cove  which  had  luckily  a  steep  zigzag 
track  to  the  cliff -top.  But  the  tide  brought  up, 
rolling  them  along  with  it,  a  broken  keg,  some 
battered  hampers,  and  two  sealed  tins.  With  the 
blade  of  a  pocket-knife  we  pierced  one  of  the  tins, 
and  were  alarmed  by  a  spirt  of  vile  gas  which 
escaped  hissing.  We  expected  it  to  explode ;  but 
it  only  contained  some  kind  of  salt  fish,  much  de- 
composed. The  other  tin  was  full  of  rank  butter. 

With  a  strong  sou'-wester  and  a  high  tide,  the 
waves  dash  high  up  the  cliffs,  and  the  spray 
reaches  the  sea-pinks  and  blue  corn-cockles  on 
their  tops.  The  cliffs  are  not  kind  to  unwary 
lovers  who  venture  on  them  at  dark.  Only  last 
spring  a  pair  went  walking  toward  St.  Donat's. 
At  a  point  where  the  track  is  close  to  the  edge 
the  youth  slipped  his  foot,  and  falling,  clutched 
at  his  companion's  dress  to  save  himself.  Both 
went  over.  He  was  fatally  hurt,  and  died  where 
he  fell.  The  girl  escaped  with  broken  bones  and, 
the  tide  sparing  her,  she  was  rescued  next  morn- 
ing after  a  terrible  night,  during  the  first  part  of 
which  she  had  his  groans  to  add  to  her  own 
torment. 

There  are  sea-places,  stretches,  and  pitches  of  a 
rocky  coast,  especially  those  where  the  sea  is  eat- 
ing away  the  land,  which  affect  one  by  a  kind  of 
indeterminate  cruelty,  almost  malignity  of  aspect, 
seen  partly  in  the  colour,  partly  in  the  forms  of 
the  rocks.  Here  the  stone  is  a  cold  grey,  and  often 
cruelly  edged ;  and  it  breaks  treacherously  under 
the  feet  and  hands  of  the  climber  climbing  up 
to  escape  the  tide,  which  flows  up  with  eagerly 
returning  waves  at  the  September  high  tides  when 
a  whipping  wind  is  behind  it. 


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tie 


LLANTWIT  MAJOR  105 

A  little  way  up  the  brook,  if  you  follow  its 
course  by  the  rough  footpath,  skirting  its  banks, 
and  cross  a  stile  or  two,  you  come  to  the  road 
under  the  so-called  Castle,  which  appears  to  be  in 
effect  an  old  mansion,  not  older  than  the  reign  of 
Henry  VII.  If  you  look  back  from  the  southern 
walls  towards  the  village  and  the  Odnant  cwm, 
you  get  a  sudden  sense  of  the  immense  antiquity 
that  is  buried  there.  The  house  you  are  standing 
near  may  be  400  years  old,  the  church  700  years  old, 
the  crosses  in  the  churchyard  1,400  years  old. 

By  following  the  winding  cwm  of  the  Odnant 
you  can  reach  the  sea  in  half  an  hour ;  but  there 
is  a  quicker  way.  If  the  bank  is  ascended  opposite 
the  church,  and  across  the  brook,  some  small 
cottages  face  the  rough  lane  that  leads  to  the  sea ; 
and  there  is  a  stile  leading  into  the  fields  within 
fifty  yards,  from  which  a  footpath,  not  very  clearly 
defined,  will  take  you  over  three  fields  to  join  the 
cwm.  Descending  it,  you  cross  the  stream  by  stones 
(if  the  weather  is  dry  enough)  or  by  the  footbridge, 
lower  down. 

The  cwm  from  the  junction  of  the  Ogney  and 
the  Odnant  is  called  Cwm  Col  Hugh ;  and  the 
lower  part  of  it,  within  the  dike,  has  a  strange 
aspect  from  the  salt  scum  left  at  high  tides  on  the 
grass.  The  meadows  of  Col  Hugh  are,  in  summer, 
the  playground  of  crowds  of  holiday-seekers,  who 
know  nothing  of  the  ancientry  of  Llantwit.  If 
one  climbs  the  steep  eastern  bank  of  the  cwm, 
near  its  sea-outlet,  one  has  Castle  Ditches  immedi- 
ately on  one's  left.  The  so-called  Ditches,  three  in 
number,  and  unusually  well  marked,  are  the  triple 
earth-works  defending  a  very  strong  coast-fort  or 
encampment,  thrown  up  by  the  Danes  in  the 
eighth  or  ninth  century,  when  Sweyn  was  active 


106  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

on  this  coast.  From  Col  Hugh  Point,  if  the  tides 
serves  (and  the  tide  here  has  great  "  play "),  a 
way  can  be  found  along  the  rocks,  edged  and 
harsh  to  the  feet,  past  the  Dimhole  cwm  and  the 
sea-caves  and  broken  cliffs,  to  Tresilian  Bay  and 
its  cave. 

Tresilian  has  many  and  strange  tales  connected 
with  it.  The  name  "  Tre-sulien,"  the  town,  or 
place,  of  Sulien,  is  taken  from  that  St.  Sulien 
whom  the  Black  Pagans  killed.  Tresilian  Court, 
now  occupied  as  a  country  house,  was  once  a  farm- 
house-inn of  the  old  Welsh  kind.  It  was  a  great 
smugglers'  and  wreckers'  resort  in  the  "  good  old 
time " ;  a  Stevensonian  romance  might  easily  be 
written  round  it.  Then,  still  earlier,  here  was  the 
scene  of  the  merry  rites,  or  riots,  of  the  "  Gwyliau 
Mabsant "  of  this  neighbourhood ;  when  all  the 
country  round  came  in  carts  and  on  horse  or  afoot, 
and  feasted  not  wisely  but  too  well.  And  then 
the  fair  Dwynwen  of  Tresilian  Cave  beguiled  the 
youths  and  maidens  who  came  to  have  their 
fortunes  told  by  the  method  you  may  still  adopt. 

The  cave  has,  at  a  distance  of  seven  or  eight 
feet  below  its  roof,  a  stone-rib,  forming  an  arch. 
Lovers  who  wish  to  question  Dwynwen,  half 
sea-witch,  half  sea-goddess,  must  find  a  round 
pebble,  and  pitch  it  over  this  arch  so  that  it  falls 
clear  on  the  other  side  without  touching  the 
rock,  rib  or  ceiling.  The  exact  formula,  said  to 
be  muttered  during  the  ceremony,  I  cannot  trace. 
"Possibly,"  says  one  writer,  "it  was  only  '  Un, 
dau,  tri,'  according  to  the  number  of  attempts 
made  ;  each  counting  as  another  year  to  be  passed 
before  marriage  ! "  More  probably  a  clear  stone- 
cast  meant  good  furtherance  in  the  course  of 
true  love. 


LLANTWIT  MAJOR  107 

At  high  tide  good  swimmers  have  been  known 
to  swim  over  the  arch,  and  return,  diving  under 
it.  A  boat,  too,  has  been  piloted  through  the 
opening ;  but  you  need  to  know  the  cave  to 
risk  it.  From  the  back  of  the  cave  a  small 
passage  proceeds  into  the  cliff,  with  many 
crevices  ;  and  local  tradition  has  it  the  passage 
is  connected  with  St.  Donat's  Castle.  This  is  no 
doubt  the  underground-passage  myth  common  in 
all  rural  neighbourhoods.  Formerly  runaway  mar- 
riages took  place  in  the  cave — according  to  the 
gossips ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  of  one  regular 
marriage  at  least  which  was  celebrated  in  it — 
that  of  General  Picton's  parents.  The  cave  used 
at  that  time  to  be  called  familiarly  "  St.  Sulien's," 
as  if  it  was  a  church,  duly  acknowledged  ;  or  some 
say  "  Reynard's  Church,"  perhaps  alluding  to  the 
fox  as  a  fitting  priest  for  a  clandestine  marriage. 
It  has  been  suggested,  too,  that  a  church  stood  a 
mile  away  southwards,  where  the  sea  now  washes, 
but  this,  too,  is  a  natural  tradition  for  this  sea- 
bitten  coast. 

We  can  continue  the  sea-coast  walk  from 
Tresilian,  with  one  interruption,  to  St.  Donat's — 
St.  Donat's,  whose  old  gateway  opens  upon 
romance.  What  a  history,  and  what  a  family ! 
For  seven  hundred  years  the  Stradlings  ruled 
there,  beginning  with  the  first  Le  Esterling  who 
received  St.  Donat's  at  the  hands  of  the  con- 
queror Robert  Fitzhamon.  Knights,  adventurers, 
smugglers,  and  wreckers,  their  motto,  "Duw  a 
ddigon"  (God  and  enough),  seems  to  have  been 
cynically  conceived.  Yet  just  as  you  have 
decided  that  here  was  the  dwelling  of  a  lawless 
race — pious,  learned,  and  cultured  Stradlings  come 
into  view.  There  was  Sir  John  Stradling,  who 


108  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

died  in  1637,  a  poefc  and  a  mighty  scholar.  Even 
by  the  time  he  graduated  at  Oxford  he  was 
"  accounted  a  miracle  for  his  forwardness  in 
learning  and  pregnancy  of  parts."  He  passed 
as  a  typical  cavalier,  and  wrote  a  poem  to 
James  I.,  and  poems  to  Charles  L,  besides  epi- 
grams to  his  friends.  There  were  other  Strad- 
lings — Sir  Edwards  and  Sir  Thomases — travellers 
and  men  of  affairs,  who  built  sea-walls  at  home 
and  encouraged  Welsh  learning  abroad.  You 
realise  here  what  a  fine,  fortunate  stock  it  was 
that  inherited  St.  Donat's,  and  paced  its  gardens 
devising  great  works,  entertaining  rare  guests. 
Among  the  latter  may  be  certainly  counted 
Archbishop  Usher,  who  fled  here  in  1646-1647 
from  Cardiff,  with  his  daughters  and  others,  and 
was  roughly  used  on  the  way.  His  hiding- 
chamber  was  behind  the  picture-gallery.  Another 
refugee,  in  an  earlier  day,  was  Nicolas  Break- 
spear,  who  became  Pope  Adrian  IV.,  the  only 
English  Pope. 

The  story  of  the  last  of  the  Stradlings,  were 
it  all  unravelled,  would  fill  a  long  mortal  docu- 
ment. Born  in  1712,  Sir  Thomas  was  at  Oxford 
a  fellow-student  with  a  young  man  of  the  name 
of  Tyrwhit.  After  the  completion  of  their  college 
career  these  two  young  men  resolved  to  make 
the  grand  tour  together.  Before  starting  (as  was 
afterwards  shown  in  evidence)  they  each  wrote  a 
letter  to  the  effect  that  if  either  of  them  should 
die  whilst  abroad,  the  survivor  should  inherit  the 
deceased's  property.  After  being  absent  some  time 
from  England,  news  came  to  St.  Donat's  that 
Stradling  was  dead,  having  been  run  through  the 
body  in  a  duel  (it  was  said  with  his  own  friend, 
Tyrwhit)  at  Montpellier,  in  France,  on  the  27th  of 


LLANTWIT  MAJOR  109 

September,  1738.  His  body  was  brought  to  St. 
Donat's  to  be  buried  on  the  19th  of  March  follow- 
ing. Several  rumours  were  then  afloat  that  he 
had  come  to  his  end  unfairly,  and  it  was  much 
doubted  that  it  was  his  body  that  was  sent  over. 
So  his  old  nurse,  who  sat  up  with  the  coffin  when 
it  was  lying  in  state,  secretly  opened  it,  and 
thrust  her  hand  in,  to  feel  whether  all  the  fingers 
were  on  the  left  hand,  as  she  knew  that  Sir 
Thomas  had,  when  a  child,  lost  one  of  his  fingers, 
it  having  been  bitten  on3  by  a  donkey.  She 
declared  that  the  two  hands  of  the  body  sent  over 
were  perfect,  and,  therefore,  that  the  body  was 
not  the  body  of  Sir  Thomas  Stradling.  Hence  for 
many  years  there  was  an  expectation  of  his 
making  his  appearance.  After  more  than  half 
a  century  spent  in  litigation,  during  which  time 
Tyrwhit  himself  died,  the  estates  were  settled  by 
Act  of  Parliament,  the  largest  portion  being  sold 
to  pay  the  lawyers ;  and  the  only  part  which  was 
allotted  to  the  heirs  of  Tyrwhit,  the  inordinate 
claimant,  was  the  Castle  and  about  £1,200  a  year, 
out  of  an  estate  which,  at  that  time,  was  the 
Chatsworth  of  the  period.  Various  claimants  got 
small  portions,  but  the  baronetage  became  vested 
in  the  issue  of  Jane,  daughter  of  Sir  Edward 
Stradling,  and  wife  of  Thomas  Carne  of  Nash  ; 
and  the  property  in  course  of  time  was  re-acquired 
by  her  descendants,  the  Stradling-Carnes.  More 
recently  it  has  passed  into  the  hands  of  another 
old  Welsh  family. 

The  Castle  itself  is  still  a  live  castle ;  and 
although  a  little  over-restored,  it  is  as  gracious 
an  abode  for  a  man  of  estate  as  he  could  wish. 
It  has  Roman  Emperors  (who  look  rather  out  of 
place),  and  a  fountain,  in  its  court.  It  has  a  hall 


110  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

with  a  great  hearth,  and  a  music-gallery  above  ; 
and  it  has  countless  staircases,  of  stone  or  old 
oak,  with  passages  and  unexpected  corridors  ;  and 
casements  with  a  command  now  of  the  little  green 
ravine,  now  of  the  gardens  and  seaward  lawns  ; 
altogether  a  covetable  great  house  for  the  roman- 
tical  soul  to  covet. 

One  distinguished  modern  writer,  "Vernon  Lee," 
has  been  so  far  attracted  by  its  implicit  wildness 
as  to  give  us  a  small,  highly-coloured  romance 
written  round  St.  Donat's  under  the  thin  disguise 
of  the  Brandlings  of  St.  Salvat's.  In  this  tale  the 
Castle  and  its  surroundings  are  weirdly,  yet 
exactly,  painted.  We  read  of  "inland  mountain 
lines,  like  cliffs,  dim  in  the  rain ;  and  at  last,  over 
the  pale  green  fields,  the  sea — quite  pale,  almost 
white."  .  .  .  Then  appeared  "the  top  of  a  tower 
and  a  piece  of  battlemented  wall,  emerging  from 
the  misty  woods,  and  a  minute  after  we  were  at  a 
tall  gate  tower,  with  a  broken  escutcheon  and  a 
drawbridge.  .  .  .  We  stopped  in  a  great  castle 
yard,  with  paved  paths  across  a  kind  of  bowling- 
green,  and  at  the  steps  of  the  house,  built  un- 
evenly all  round,  battlemented  and  turreted,  with 
huge  projecting  windows  made  of  little  panes." 
Here  is  the  theatre  where  is  played  out  the  un- 
equal duel  between  the  high-bred  and  accom- 
plished young  heir,  who  is  accompanied  by  his 
bride,  and  the  rough  and  dangerous  crowd  of 
smuggling,  wrecking  kinsmen  who  virtually  hold 
them  as  prisoners.  "  What  chiefly  delights  my 
romantic  temper,"  writes  the  heroine,  "are  the 
woods  in  which  the  castle  is  hidden  and  its  sin- 
gular position,  on  an  utterly  isolated  little  bay  of 
this  wild  and  dangerous  coast."  Below  the  wide 
descending  Castle  terraces  is  a  little  dingle,  as 


LL  ANT  WIT  MAJOR  111 

green  and  lovely  and  innocent-looking  as  can  be 
imagined. 

The  Watch  Tower,  unique  of  its  kind,  stands  on 
the  park  slope  beyond  the  dingle,  watching  the 
coast  for  many  miles.  Its  .original  use  was  to 
spy  for  ships,  and  to  exhibit  a  wreckers'  light ; 
so  the  old  story  has  it.  The  tower  is  quadran- 
gular, thirty  feet  in  height,  and  its  stair  leads 
to  a  projecting  platformed  turret.  It  is  a  fif- 
teenth-century erection.  The  church  is  under  the 
Castle.  As  one  enters  the  churchyard,  the  superb 
cross  on  the  north  of  the  church  lends  a  grace 
to  the  tree-kept  enclosure  and  its  graves,  and  the 
venerable  tower.  This  cross  dates  from  the  twelfth 
century,  and  it  is  amazing  to  think  how  it  has 
outlasted  time  and  mischance,  though  the  carving 
on  its  head  has  been  blunted  and  weathered.  The 
Church  is  more  striking  as  a  living  interior,  meant 
for  service  as  well  as  memory,  than  Llantwit. 
The  Stradling  Chapel,  added  in  the  sixteenth 
century  to  the  original  church,  is  a  notable 
monument  to  that  rare  old  family.  If  these 
tombs  could  but  speak ! 

The  last  of  the  Stradlings,  the  young  and  ill- 
fated  Sir  Thomas,  whose  tale  we  have  already 
told,  went  to  his  grave  lit  by  a  wild  sort  of  torch- 
light, for  on  that  occasion  a  fire  broke  out  in  the 
Castle,  and  did  sad  havoc,  especially  in  the  picture- 
gallery — a  singular  accident  to  happen  on  a  day 
of  mourning. 

St.  Donat's,  too,  has  its  ghostly  visitant.  Once 
a  year,  Mallt-y-nos,  poor  Matilda  of  the  Night, 
comes  in  a  dark  gown — some  say  dark  blue,  some 
dark  red— to  St.  Donat's  Castle  to  hunt  for  the 
soul  of  Colyn  Dolphyn,  the  Breton  pirate.  Colyn 
Dolphyn  was  once  a  name  of  fate  at  St.  Donat's ; 


112  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

he  it  was  who  captured  Sir  Harry  Stradling,  who 
built  the  famous  old  watch-tower.  Colyn  Dolphyn 
(whose  effigy  used  to  be  burnt  once  a  year  on  the 
sands  near  Llantwit,  so  great  a  scourge  was  he) 
put  Sir  Harry  to  ransom  at  2,000  marks.  To  pay 
this  great  sum  five  manors  were  sold  by  the 
Stradling  family.  This  happened  about  1480.  By 
that  time  poor  Matilda  had  been  hunting  the 
heavens  with  her  ghostly  hounds  for  three  hun- 
dred years.  She  was  a  Norman  who  came  to 
Glamorgan  with  Fitzhamon.  She  was  so  pas- 
sionately fond  of  hunting  that  when  spoken  to 
by  a  holy  man  concerning  the  future  life  and  her 
conduct  here  below,  she  answered,  "  If  I  cannot 
hunt  in  heaven,  I  would  rather  not  go  there " ; 
a  sentiment  which  rather  reminds  one  of  the 
"  En  Paradis  qu'  ai-je  a  f aire  ?  "  of  Aucassin.  For 
this  speech  Matilda  was  sent  hunting  for  ever 
with  the  ghostly  Own  Annwn,  or  Hounds  of  Hades, 
who  hunt  the  air  on  stormy  nights  with  bayings 
and  cries.  Did  poor  Matilda  on  one  of  her  ghostly 
huntings  happen  to  meet  with  Sir  Harry  Strad- 
ling that,  even  so  late  as  1850,  she  should  still  be 
hunting  his  tormentor,  Colyn  Dolphyn  ?  Sir  Harry 
never  returned  to  St.  Donat's,  but  went  on  pil- 
igrimage  to  Jerusalem,  as  did  many  of  the  Strad- 
lings,  and  died  on  the  way  home  at  Famagusta. 

Wandering  in  South  Wales,  one  is  apt  to  look 
upon  castles  as  giant  milestones,  and  measure 
one's  course  by  the  landmarks  they  so  temptingly 
exhibit.  After  St.  Donat's  one  naturally  thinks 
next  of  Dunraven — a  matter  of  four  miles  away 
as  the  crow  flies ;  but  the  coast  is  a  difficult 
one.  We  are  still  on  the  dangerous  rocks  of  the 
Upper  Lias  formation,  and  Nash  Point  is  a  for- 
midable place  enough.  What  says  the  old  sailor 


H       P 


LLANTWIT  MAJOR  113 

as  he  runs  down  Bristol  Channel  past  Nash  Point  ? 
"  If  the  Great  Gutter  or  Nash  Passage  roars  louder 
than  Breaksea  Point "  (which  he  passed  awhile 
ago),  "the  trip  will  be  an  unlucky  one." 

Moreover,  beware  of  Nash  Sands.  Why  ? 
"  Because  there  is  a  winch  in  them."  Now  a 
11  winch "  is  a  very  curious  thing  :  a  sort  of 
bottomless  whirlpool  into  which,  if  your  body 
fall,  it  will  never  be  seen  again.  So  swimmers 
are  warned  against  the  "  winch  "  in  Nash  Passage, 
which  is  known  down  there  as  the  Great  Gutter. 
Very  often  a  lovely  lady  sits  and  lures  people  into 
the  winch.  One  cannot  help  thinking  there  was 
a  winch  in  the  Rhine,  retained  in  the  immediate 
service  of  the  Lorelei. 

In  the  graveyard  at  Monknash  a  stone,  with  an 
anchor  for  emblem,  may  be  seen,  erected  by  volun- 
tary subscription — 

' '  To  the  Memory  of  the  shipwrecked  crew  of  the  Mcdleny  : 
Lost  on  the  Tusker  rock,  15  Octr.  1886." 

The  first  two  occupants  of  this  sailors'  grave  are 
simply  notified  as — 

"  1.  Unrecognized. 
2.  Unrecognized." 

Then  follow  two  younger  sailors,  duly  named. 
One  is  the  more  struck  by  this  gravestone,  because 
of  old  it  was  the  custom  on  this  coast — notorious 
for  its  wreckers — to  show  small  pity  or  charity 
to  the  drowning  or  the  drowned ;  and  here  we 
have  the  simple  confession  of  much  kindness,  and 
the  atonement  of  one  generation  for  another, 
written  on  a  stone.  The  waves  that  break  around 

8 


114  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

the  dreaded  Nash  Point  are  called  "  the  Merry 
Dancers,"  and  the  souls  of  the  drowned  were  once 
thought  to  be  holding  revels  among  them. 

Let  us  get  on  to  firm  ground  and  betake  our- 
selves to  Dunraven. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DUNRAVEN  —  SOUTHEBNDOWN  —  COWBRIDGE  —  ST. 
QUINTIN'S —  PENLLINE — EWENNY — BRIDGEND  — 
COITY — OGMORE — CANDLESTON. 

DUNRAVEN  lies  over  the  bold  shoulder  of  the  Great 
Southern  Down,  above  Ogwr  estuary,  which  gives 
its  name  to  Southerndown,  the  watering-place. 
Dunraven  Castle  itself  is  a  modern  one,  a  building 
with  nothing  really  castle-like  about  it,  and  indeed 
the  most  disappointing  in  the  district.  The  Welsh 
original  form  of  the  name  was  Dun-drivan,  Dinas- 
tri-fan,  the  "Dun"  of  three  courts.  The  spacious 
stableyard  and  the  garden  terraces  on  the  north 
are  sheltered  in  the  wooded  cwm  behind  the  huge 
rocky  rampart  on  which  the  house  stands.  The 
formidable  sea-front  of  this  rock  recalls  the  ill  re- 
putation that  the  Castle  had  formerly  as  a  deadly 
lure  for  the  vessels  passing  up  and  down  the 
coast ;  and  the  name  of  the  point,  "  Trwyn-y- 
Witch  "  (Witch's  Snout),  is  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  place.  Two  centuries  ago,  when  the  Castle 
was  owned  by  the  Vaughans,  Sir  Richard,  follow- 
ing the  custom,  used  to  exhibit  false  lights  to  lure 
vessels  on  to  the  Taskar  Rock  opposite,  so  that 
they  might  be  wrecked  on  his  foreshore  and 
become  his  property;  but  the  Taskar  proved  in 
the  end  an  ill  friend  to  him.  One  summer's  day 

two   of  his  sons   rowed   out  to   the  rock,   at  the 

us 


116  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

tide's  ebb,  and  disembarking  there  forgot  to  secure 
the  boat,  which  floated  away  as  the  tide  returned, 
and  the  two  were  drowned  in  full  sight  of  their 
parents,  no  other  boat  being  obtainable.  During 
the  confusion  a  younger  child  fell  into  a  vessel  of 
whey,  and  was  drowned  on  shore.  So  the  parents 
were  left  desolate,  and  gave  up  the  place,  when 
it  passed  to  the  Wyndham  family,  now  repre- 
sented by  the  Earl  of  Dunraven. 

It  was  an  earlier  Vaughan,  "  Mat  of  the  Iron 
Hand,"  who  was  most  notorious  of  all  as  a 
wrecker.  Between  pirates  like  Colyn  Dolphyn 
afloat  and  wreckers  like  Mat  lying  in  wait  ashore, 
the  old  Bristol-bound  East  Indiamen  and  other 
ships  had  often  a  hard  passage  up  Channel. 

The  double  cave  at  Dunraven  is  on  a  larger 
scale  than  any  on  this  part  of  the  coast.  When 
the  gates  are  open  there  should  be  no  difficulty  in 
making  a  way  round  by  the  walks  east  of  the 
Castle  to  the  descent  on  the  south-east  of  the 
Head.  But  the  cave  is  only  to  be  explored  at  low 
water.  The  sea  has  worked  here  upon  the  lime- 
stone, eating  out  its  softer  parts,  and  excavating  a 
cavern,  with  a  nobly  architectured  portal.  You 
must  follow  the  sea-links  westward  from  Dun- 
raven  above  Southerndown  Sands  for  "  Pwll-y- 
Gwynt,"  the  "  wind-hole."  It  is  said  not  to  have 
so  effective  an  upward  blast  as  it  used  to  have  ; 
but  the  rush  of  air  and  the  noise,  harsh  or 
rumbling,  of  the  waves  have  a  curious  and 
uncanny  effect  as  the  tide  returns.  The  Fairy 
Cave  lies  still  a  couple  of  hundred  paces  further 
on  in  the  same  direction — so  called  because  of 
its  fairy-like  limestone  mouldings,  not  because 
it  is  especially  the  haunt  of  the  "Tylwyth  Teg," 
or  Fair  Family. 


DUNRAVEN  117 

The  Welsh  traditions  that  are,  or  have  been, 
grafted  on  the  rock  of  Dundrivan  are  too  many 
and  too  obstinate  to  be  neglected.  By  the  first 
and  stubbornest  of  them,  the  old  British  caer  here 
was  the  stronghold  first  of  Bran,  son  of  Llyr,  then 
of  his  son  Ceredig  or  Caractacus.  After  Fitz- 
hamon  had  got  hold  on  Morganwg  William  de 
Londres  seized  on  Dunraven  and  Ogmore,  and 
planted  the  usual  makeshift  site-appropriating 
castles.  While  he  was  away  at  Kidwelly,  the 
Welsh  under  Pain  Turberville — for  already  there 
were  Norman  quarrels  afoot — attacked  the  new 
seats  and  domains,  and  were  driven  off  by  Arnold 
Butler,  castellan  and  deputy  of  De  Londres,  whose 
reward  in  the  end  was  Dunraven.  It  remained 
in  the  Butler  family  for  centuries,  and  then  by  an 
heiress's  marriage  it  went  to  the  Vaughans — an 
interesting  case  of  Welsh  reversion.  Another  two 
centuries,  and  Sir  Richard  Vaughan,  after  the 
drowning  of  his  three  sons,  sold  the  ill-omened 
place  to  Humphry  Wyndham,  who  also  had  Celtic 
blood  in  him,  being  of  Irish  stock.  That  was  in 
1642,  and  one  wonders  whether  the  O'Neil  mas- 
sacre of  the  previous  year  had  anything  to  do 
with  Wyndham's  desire  for  a  Welsh  estate?  He 
married  a  Welsh  wife,  Jane  Carne  of  Ewenny ; 
and  of  that  marriage  come  the  present  Earls  of 
Dunraven,  who  seem  to  maintain  a  certain  love 
of  the  sea.  One  wishes  they  would  build  a  proper 
castle  worthy  of  the  site,  as  well  as  racing-yachts. 

One  morning,  after  exploring  the  headland  and 
the  Witch's  Snout,  I  and  David  were  tempted  by 
a  vain  desire  to  link  Dunraven  with  the  other 
inland  castles.  He  surmised  that  Sir  Arnold, 
alias  Arnold  Butler,  was  figured  in  one  of  the 
Arthurian  tales — the  Welsh  Decameron;  and  that 


118  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

another  knight  of  the  same  levy  came  from 
Penlline,  near  Cowbridge.  So  thither  we  rode 
by  devious  ways — on  bicycles. 

Looking  from  Penlline  Hill,  one  can  easily  recall 
the  Cowbridge  that  was  first  circled  with  walls 
and  then  with  castles.  For,  beyond  Llanblethian 
and  its  castle  and  fine  church,  you  have  Beaupre 
on  the  south-east  and  Nash  on  the  south-west, 
and,  a  little  further  on,  Flemingston,  with  Fonmon 
and  Penmark  within  an  hour's  ride  ;  and  about 
the  same  distance  from  the  coast,  working  west, 
East  Orchard  Castle  and  West  Orchard  Castle, 
and  then,  to  wind  up,  the  sea-front  fortified  at 
every  strategic  point  and  every  part,  from  Barry 
to  St.  Donat's  and  Dundrivan  (Dunraven). 

Like  the  Vale  of  Glamorgan,  in  whose  very 
heart  it  lies,  Cowbridge  town  is  cut  in  two  by 
the  river  Thaw  ;  and  its  interminable  street  rises 
slowly  from  its  half-way  bridge  in  either  direction 
to  the  East  village  and  the  West  village.  A  side- 
street  leads  to  the  Grammar  School  and  the 
church,  and  reveals  some  remains  of  the  older 
Cowbridge  that  the  founders  of  the  Grammar 
School,  with  Sir  Leoline  Jenkins  at  their  head, 
knew.  This  shy  street  leads  out  eventually 
through  an  old  archway,  passing  the  limits, 
plainly  visible  there,  of  the  old  town-walls ;  and 
so  arrives  in  a  green  region  of  hill  and  meadow, 
with  the  Castle  of  Llanblethian,  or  St.  Quintin, 
within  a  mile  or  less.  Thither  lies  a  most  delight- 
ful summer's  afternoon  walk ;  for  although  little 
of  the  Castle  is  left,  it  lends  the  place  its  flavour 
of  memorial  things.  All  that  is  to  be  seen  of  it 
may  be  inspected  from  the  road.  It  consists 
chiefly  of  the  arched  gateway,  with  part  of  a 
tower  and  remains  of  the  shell  of  the  outer  court. 


DUNRAVEN  119 

Down  below,  the  massive  abutments  of  the 
church  tower,  and  the  other  external  effects  of 
Cowbridge  Church,  make  it  look  like  a  fortified 
thing  too.  The  church  interior  is  puzzling ;  for 
since  originally  it  was  merely  a  chapel-of-ease  to 
Llanblethian,  it  was  designed  on  a  smaller  scale. 
Then,  as  Cowbridge  town  grew,  and  more  seats 
were  required,  first  one  aisle  was  added  to  the 
nave  and  then  another  to  the  Chancel. 

"Penlline  Castle  was  the  first  bold  landmark  to 
be  descried,  looking  westward  from  Cowbridge. 
It  was  placed  on  a  fine  natural  site  so  as  to 
command  the  Yale  of  Glamorgan,  in  a  way  that 
must  have  been  very  formidable  to  conjecturing 
besiegers.  Formerly,  when  St.  Quentin's  Castle 
was  fully  manned  and  armed  on  the  hill  of 
Llanblethian  over  Cowbridge  town,  and  the  walls 
and  gateways  of  the  town  below  were  complete, 
this  must  have  formed  almost  a  perfect  example 
of  a  Norman  fortified  valley,  armed  at  all  points 
because  it  went  in  continual  terror  of  the  Welsh 
hill-lords  and  highlanders."  So  David. 

If  you  return  to  the  western  high-road,  bound 
for  Ewenny,  after  leaving  Penlline,  you  reach,  at 
two  miles  from  Cowbridge,  the  spot  known  in 
Welsh  as  "  Milltir  Aur,"  or  Golden  Mile,  where, 
the  legend  declares,  Einon  and  lestyn  paid  their 
Norman  allies  in  gold  for  their  services  in  de- 
feating Rhys  ;  and  then  quarrelled  over  lestyn's 
daughter. 

"This  lady  I  gat  by  my  prowess  in  arms,  and 
the  prowess  of  my  Frankish  allies  !  "  Einon  said 
no  doubt,  much  after  the  fashion  of  Sir  Hontzlac 
of  Gwent. 

But  lestyn,  thinking  the  Frankish  host  well 
disposed  of,  was  not  ready  to  fulfil  his  promise 


120  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

and  give  up  his  daughter.  The  end  of  this  we 
know.  Einon  recalled  his  Frankish  friends,  and 
the  end  was  the  battle  where  lestyn  fell,  at 
Mynydd  Bychan  (Little  Mountain),  now  known 
as  the  Heath,  Cardiff.  But  meanwhile  one's 
heart  bleeds  for  lestyn's  daughter,  and  grieves 
like  Gwiffert  over  Enid,  to  see  "  one  of  her  noble 
mien  so  deeply  afflicted  !  " 

The  Golden  Mile  points  the  way  now  to  Ewenny 
Priory.  It  is  impossible  to-day  to  approach 
Ewenny  in  any  spirit  of  mediaeval  piety,  any 
taking  of  romance,  without  hearing  the  monks 
chant  within,  as  one  catches  sight  of  its  noble 
abbatine  tower  among  the  trees. 

The  old  Abbey  Church,  with  its  massive  fortified 
true  Norman  tower,  bulking  large  in  its  green 
surroundings,  recalls  too  Freeman's  praise.  It 
gives  you  the  best  idea  you  can  gain  anywhere  of 
an  ecclesiastical  strong-house,  "  union  of  castle 
and  monastery  in  the  same  structure  ! "  Only  part 
of  the  exterior  can  be  seen,  for  the  northern  side, 
the  transept  walls,  that  is,  abut  on  the  private 
grounds.  Within,  the  impression  is  of  a  sombre, 
august  building,  such  as  our  modern  eyes  can  rarely 
see.  The  burly  pillars,  rude  Norman  arches  and 
round-topped  windows,  are  all  in  keeping.  The 
whole  building  is  not  left  to  us ;  but  the  nave  and 
north  aisle,  and  the  southern  flank  of  the  transept 
and  the  Priory  Chapel,  are  enough  to  show  the 
whole  strong  design.  The  tomb  of  the  founder, 
Maurice  de  Londres,  is  in  the  Priory  Chapel ;  and 
other  tombs  of  other  old  Norman  and  Norman- 
Welsh  houses,  the  Turbervilles  among  them,  and 
the  ubiquitous  Carnes.  It  is  hard  to  realise  now 
the  strength  and  size  of  the  whole  monastic  settle- 
ment. Signs  of  the  great  battlemeiited  wall  are 


DUNEAVEN  121 

plainly  to  be  discerned  ;  but  one  must  be  permitted 
to  explore  carefully  the  surroundings  of  the 
present  house  and  the  garden-close  to  replace 
all  the  range  of  buildings.  The  present  mansion 
was  built  in  George  III.'s  reign. 

Ewenny  was  founded  as  early  as  1146,  as  a 
Benedictine  monastery  ;  that  is,  while  the  Norman 
tenure  of  this  region  was  still  a  hazardous  one. 
It  must  have  taken  many  years  a-building.  When 
it  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Turbervilles,  whose 
descendants  still  hold  it,  we  cannot  say.  The 
Turbervilles  were  originally  allotted  Coity  in  the 
Fitzhamon  parcelling  out  of  the  district.  Among 
the  tombs  will  be  found  some  curious  epitaphs,  and 
particularly  this,  which  is  impressively  turned,  in 
honour  of  one  of  the  Carnes  : — 

"Here  lys  Ewenny's  hope,  Ewenny 's  pride, 
In  him  both  flourish'd,  and  in  him  both  dyd. 
Death  having  seis'd  him,  linger'd  loath  to  be 
The  ruine  of  this  worthy  family." 

After  such  a  crow's  circuit  round  these  ancient 
houses  and  lands,  one  is  seized  upon  by  a  curious 
sense  of  the  actuality  of  the  scenes  and  episodes 
that  have  become  romance;  they  are  in  fact  now 
a  part  of  our  collective  memory.  You  lift  the 
lid  of  an  old  tomb  at  Ewenny,  and  the  creature  of 
actuality  looks  out  at  you,  half  "  a  fiendly  dragon  " 
like  an  heraldic  beast,  half  the  plain  human 
visage  of  a  Carne  or  a  Turberville. 

In  Welsh,  Pen-y-Bont-yr- Ogwr  (End  of  the 
Bridge  of  Ogwr),  Bridgend  formerly  owed  its 
name  and  character  to  its  command  of  the  Ogwr, 
once  a  fine  old  salmon  stream.  The  town,  like 
many  other  quiet  country  places,  is  not  amusing 


122  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

to  the  casual  wayfarer,  save  when  fair-days  and 
market-days  bring  country  people  and  life  from 
without  into  its  long  streets.  Bridgend  has  nothing 
to  show  of  its  vanished  "  Old  Castle,"  which  still 
gives  a  name  to  the  southern  quarter  of  the  town, 
placed  on  the  east  bank  of  the  river.  Its  "  New 
Castle,"  as  its  higher  and  better  site  deserves, 
still  stands  siege  with  a  gateway  and  ruined  court, 
and  still  gives  a  name  to  the  northern  suburb  of 
the  town,  on  the  west  bank  of  the  stream.  In 
crossing  the  old  bridge  for  the  church  and  the 
New  Castle,  casual  acquaintance  may  be  made 
with  the  Ogwr.  You  will  not  see  a  salmon,  but 
you  will  see  a  salmon-water  which  thousands  and 
thousands  of  that  noble  fish  have  coursed.  Sixty 
years  ago  and  more  this  bridge  was  the  rendez- 
vous for  the  salmon  poachers  of  the  town,  who, 
leaning  over  its  parapets,  pipe  in  mouth,  used,  as 
gossips  tell,  to  calculate  the  state  of  the  water 
and  the  chances  of  the  night's  sport. 

Writing  eighty  years  ago,  Hansard  gave  a  notable 
account  of  these  night-poachers  and  their  ways  : — 

"  From  the  commencement  of  the  spawning  season,  at  the 
latter  end  of  September,  until  January,  parties  are  engaged 
every  moonless  night  in  spearing  salmon  by  torchlight,  whilst 
roaming  upon  the  shallow  gravelly  streams  in  search  of  a 
suitable  spot  for  depositing  their  ova.  On  such  situations 
they  congregate  to  the  number  of  twenty  or  thirty  in  a 
shoal,  rooting  up  the  bed  of  the  river  like  hogs.  The 
poachers,  aware  of  their  favourite  haunts,  assemble  about 
midnight,  and  having  kindled  a  small  bundle  of  straw,  by 
means  of  a  tinder-box,  one  of  the  party  holds  the  light  over 
the  water,  being  closely  followed  by  the  spearman,  armed  with 
a  heavy  trident,  and  behind  walks  a  third  person,  carrying 
on  his  back  a  large  supply  of  fuel,  as,  in  windy  nights 
especially,  the  straw  is  rapidly  consumed.  The  instant  that 
the  surface  of  the  stream  becomes  illumined  by  the  torch, 


DUNRAVEN  123 

which  renders  every  object,  even  the  smallest  portion  of 
gravel,  distinctly  visible,  the  whole  shoal  of  salmon  dart  to- 
wards the  light,  and  the  spearman,  instantly  selecting  the 
largest  fish,  hurls  his  weapon  with  unerring  aim,  and,  if  an 
old  hand,  never  fails  of  transfixing  his  scaly  prey.  He  then 
immediately  throws  the  fish  upon  the  bank,  and,  quickly 
disengaging  the  spear  with  his  foot,  stands  ready  to  repeat 
the  blow.  It  frequently  happens  that,  if  he  strike  a  large 
fish,  the  poacher  is  compelled  to  leap  into  the  stream ;  for 
the  salmon  proves  exceedingly  strong  in  his  element.  These 
depredators  proceed,  in  a  similar  manner,  from  station  to 
station,  until  the  approach  of  day  warns  them  to  depart." 

We  read  that  "  on  the  13th  of  August,  1838,  112 
sewen  were  caught,  at  one  haul,  in  this  stream." 

Leaving  the  old  bridge,  if  we  go  up  the  Castle 
Hill,  we  come  to  the  Square,  where  we  have 
St.  Illtyd's  Church  on  our  left,  and  closely  neigh- 
bouring it,  perched  higher  on  the  riverside  cliff, 
the  remains  of  the  Castle  itself.  A  tower,  a 
broken  curtain  wall,  a  part  of  another  tower, 
are  all  that  is  left  of  the  stronghold  whose 
strength  once  made  it  possible  for  the  town  to 
wax  fat  and  prosperous  under  the  hand  of  its  cas- 
tellans. Sir  Simon  de  Turberville  was  the  original 
founder.  To  find  the  traces  of  Bridgend  Old 
Castle,  at  the  other  side  of  the  town,  is  more 
difficult,  and  all  we  can  do  is  to  point  out  its  site 
and  a  possible  remnant  of  its  stones  in  some  of 
the  older  houses  near  the  river.  It  was  situated 
in  a  low,  badly  chosen  site,  behind  the  present 
Church  Street,  on  the  opposite  bend  of  the  river, 
whose  waters  were  doubtless  used  to  surround  it, 
and  isolate  it,  if  necessary,  in  time  of  attack. 

A  footpath  may  be  taken  to  Coity  Castle,  once 
a  very  important  stronghold — one  of  the  five 
strongest  in  all  Glamorgan.  It  stands  on  an  earth- 


124  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

work,  which  may  have  been  there  long  before  the 
Castle ;  for  if  there  is  anything  certain  in  a  dis- 
puted land  of  hilly  circumstance,  it  is  that  the 
same  sites  are  likely  to  be  seized  upon  over  and 
over  during  the  succession  of  occupiers,  British, 
Roman,  Welsh,  Norman.  The  most  striking  part 
of  the  ruin  is  not  the  oldest,  and  probably  dates 
no  further  back  than  Henry  V.'s  reign. 

The  late  G.  T.  Clark  says  of  the  Castle  (in  his 
Land  of  Morgan)  :  "  Pagan  de  Turberville  had 
Coity,  much  celebrated  in  bardic  story  as  the 
seat  of  a  royal  lineage.  He,  or  his  son,  strength- 
ened their  position  by  marrying  the  dispossessed 
Welsh  heiress.  The  family  always  showed  Welsh 
sympathies,  and  continued  to  hold  high  rank  in 
the  county  till  the  fifteenth  century,  when  the 
main  line  failed."  Morgan,  whose  daughter  thus 
made  the  first  Welsh-Norman  marriage  on  record, 
was  a  great  man  in  his  day.  He  challenged  Pagan 
(or  Payn)  de  Turberville  to  single  combat,  if  he 
preferred  that  to  marrying  the  maid.  The  maid's 
eyes  settled  the  matter,  for  the  Norman  handed 
his  sword  to  Morgan  as  a  sign  of  friendly  agree- 
ment. From  the  Turbervilles,  Coity  passed  to  the 
Berkrolles  and  Sydneys. 

From  Bridgend  or  from  Ewenny  you  easily  reach 
Ogmore  Castle.  Not  much  is  left  of  it  but  the  keep, 
the  broken  containing-wall  of  the  close,  and  the 
now  scarce  discernible  ground-plan  of  the  chapel. 
The  powerful  De  Londres,  who  built  and  held  it, 
would  find  it  hard  to  recognise  his  kingdom  in 
this  gapp'd  and  crack'd  decay.  But  while  men  and 
castles  dwindle,  the  Ogmore  limestone  spring,  at  the 
edge  of  the  down,  about  three  hundred  yards  east 
of  the  Castle,  is  as  strong  and  lively  as  ever,  and 
is  now  used  to  supply  Bridgend  with  water.  The 


DUNRAVEN  125 

supply  never  gives  out  in  the  driest  season  ;  and 
this  and  the  strangeness  of  its  sudden  apparition 
account  for  the  folk-tale  which  accords  it  an 
underground  passage  to  St.  Bride's  Major.  The 
limestone  all  through  South  Wales  is  something 
of  a  natural  magician.  One  curious  property  of 
the  spring  is  that  it  is  of  dual  character,  one  of  its 
currents  being  of  much  harder  water  than  the 
other,  and  impregnated  with  magnesia. 

From  Ogmore  Castle,  it  is  but  a  step  on  to 
Candleston  (or  Cantilupeston)  Castle,  which  can 
be  reached  in  a  twenty  minutes'  walk.  First 
cross  St.  Teilo's  stepping  stones,  as  the  Saint  may 
have  done  long  ago  (when  he  had  a  wattled  cell 
near  the  spring),  then  cross  the  swampy  ground 
between  the  Ewenny  and  the  Ogmore  and  the 
bridge  over  the  latter.  Candleston  Castle  lies  on 
the  left,  through  the  lane  and  along  the  fir  plan- 
tation, on  the  brink  of  Merthyr  Mawr  warren. 
The  Castle,  one  of  those  built  by  De  Londres, 
picture  of  desolation  as  it  is,  its  last  tower  con- 
fronting the  sands,  shows  no  sign  now  of  the  sup- 
posed Flemish  work  about  it  and  its  scanty 
remains.  At  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century 
a  mansion  was  built  near  by,  but  that  too  is  gone 
to  ruin.  The  trees  have  a  grey  and  wizened  air, 
as  if  they  sympathised  with  the  old  walls.  Candle- 
ston, with  rabbits  for  sole  tenantry,  with  its 
sandy  ravine  and  ghostly  woods,  has  lost  touch 
with  history ;  but  it  might,  if  it  could,  tell  of  the 
day  when  the  men  of  De  Londres  rode  across  the 
sands  from  Newton  Nottage,  carrying  an  un- 
happy prisoner  with  them — a  luckless  Welsh 
raider  whom  they  could  presently  bind  fast  to  a 
post  and  then  leave  him  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  incoming  tide. 


CHAPTER  XII 

NEWTON    NOTTAGE —  POBTHCAWL— KENFIG  —  "  THE 
CLERK  OF  KENFIG" 

IT  is  a  wild  stretch  of  coast  that  runs  westward 
now  from  the  estuary  of  Ogmore  River.  The 
battle  between  sea  and  land  is  fought  there  with 
endless  change  of  fortune :  the  sea  hurls  up 
billows  of  sand  to  choke  the  fields  and  bury  the 
houses  ;  the  land  sends  out  deadly  ridges  of  low 
rock  to  the  murder  of  ships  that  pass  in  the 
Severn  Sea. 

Newton  Nottage  here  stands  back  from  the 
sea,  with  a  broad  belt  of  half -clothed  dunes  be- 
tween. The  village  is  a  survival  of  other  days, 
worth  making  acquaintance  with,  whose  people 
are  people  of  character  and  humour,  and  of  a 
canny  quality  too,  unless  one  proverb  belies  them. 
The  church,  again,  is  original  in  its  antiquity; 
and  its  tower  is  not  like  other  towers,  but  has 
an  "  air,"  not  easy  to  realise  as  it  stares  across  at 
the  Merthyr  Mawr  warren  like  some  amazed  and 
amazing  creature  spawned  by  a  primitive  world. 
Its  interior  is  remarkable  for  its  carven  pulpit, 
depicting  the  Roman  soldiers  beating  with  thongs 
the  person  of  the  Saviour;  and  the  approach  to 
the  pulpit  is  unusual  and  ingenious  enough  to 
please  a  child. 


NEWTON   NOTTAGE  127 

Here  is  St.  John's  Well,  whose  sweet  water 
rises  and  falls  with  the  sea-tide.  Not  far  from  it 
to  the  south-west  are  the  remains  of  a  small  cir- 
cular enclosure.  In  the  year  1820  the  Rev.  Hey 
Knight  was  told  by  the  old  people  of  Newton 
"  that  there  had  been  a  custom  of  kindling  a 
fire  in  it  annually  on  midsummer  day,  throwing 
a  small  cheese  or  cake  across  it,  and  then  jumping 
over  the  embers." 

The  same  writer  gives  detailed  particulars  of 
the  shore,  which,  he  said,  "westward  from  the 
Black  rocks  consists  of  drift  sand  and  rolled 
pebbles.  This  flat  beach  is  divided  at  Newton 
Point  and  Middle  Point  by  skers  or  projecting 
ridges  of  low  rock."  Each  of  these  spits,  as  well 
as  the  higher  point  at  Porthcawl  (so  named  from 
two  fishing  weirs  formerly  placed  there),  is  prob- 
ably continued  into  the  Channel  to  the  south 
and  east  under  the  names  of  the  Patches  and 
the  Tusker.  The  latter  rock  has  a  beacon  on  it, 
and  is  especially  dangerous  from  the  deadly 
skers  which  open  out  at  its  western  end;  upon 
them  the  tide  sets  with  a  heavy  break  in  rough 
weather. 

Knight  does  not  mention  the  local  super- 
stition, still  current  to-day,  that  on  nights  fore- 
boding storm,  a  warning  phantom  light  is  seen 
hovering  over  the  Tusker  Rocks  and  the  Sker 
Rock.  Another  of  the  flood  traditions  lingers  in 
Newton  ;  there  is  an  old  prophecy  that  "  the  sea 
shall  return  and  ships  be  moored  to  a  sycamore- 
tree  growing  on  the  top  of  Newton  Clovis."  If  we 
like  to  take  it  so,  we  may  find  an  extraordinary 
confirmation  of  this  saying  in  the  fact  that  when 
the  foundations  of  an  old  house  in  this  neighbour- 
hood were  re-dug,  a  drift  of  sand  like  a  raised 


128  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

beach  was  found  below  them.  The  sea  had  been 
there  before  ;  just  as  certainly  the  sea  is  gaining 
upon  this  coast  again. 

Dutch  vessels  northward  of  their  true  course, 
and  deceived  by  the  similarity  of  soundings, 
sometimes  came  up  the  Bristol  instead  of  the 
English  Channel — an  error  often  fatal  before  light- 
house days.  A  flat  stone  in  Newton  Churchyard 
commemorates  the  loss  of  a  young  family,  three 
sons  of  J.  S.  Jackerd,  sent  from  Surinam  in  the 
planter's  own  ship  westward  bound  to  Amster- 
dam, wrecked  on  the  night  of  the  3rd  of  June, 
1770.  Many  soldiers  lost  in  one  of  the  transports 
for  Bristol  in  the  Irish  Rebellion,  1798,  were  buried 
in  Cae  Newydd,  Porthcawl,  and  the  plough  for 
long  spared  the  turf  above  them. 

This  is  the  region  which  Blackmore  has  pictured 
in  his  Maid  of  Sker,  on  the  whole  the  best  novel 
of  South  Wales  and  its  sea-coast  ever  written  by 
any  writer.  Sker  House  lies  direct  south,  and 
the  sands  of  Sker  lie  rather  to  the  west  of  Kenfig. 
But  Newton  Nottage,  as  readers  of  the  novel  in 
question  may  like  to  know,  is  the  village  of  the 
story;  and  at  Nottage  House  the  late  Mr.  Black- 
more  stayed  for  a  time,  and  there  gathered  the 
local  lore  and  material  that  he  turned  to  account 
afterwards. 

Newton  Nottage  lies  at  the  base  of  a  little 
promontory  that  juts  well  out  into  the  Severn 
Sea,  catching  the  freshest  and  raciest  Atlantic 
breezes.  Here  is  Porthcawl,  a  delightful  little 
place  for  those  who  happen  to  like  it.  The  town 
is  no  more  than  a  couple  of  streets  or  so,  one 
ending  in  a  paved,  wind-swept  esplanade.  Add  to 
these  a  small  dock,  and  just  as  much  shipping  of 
coal  and  limestone  as  may  lend  an  air  of  business 


NEWTON  NOTTAGE  129 

to  a  summer  day,  and  beguile  the  visitor  into 
whiling  away  a  lazy  afternoon  and  thinking  he 
has  done  something,  since  a  vessel  has  stowed 
her  bunkers  and  put  to  sea :  and  that  is  Porth- 
cawl. 

On  a  rough  day  the  waves  make  great  play 
about  the  miniature  pier  that  defends  the  dock, 
and  a  walk  along  the  salt  rampart  may  end  in  a 
cold  shower-bath  on  the  head  of  the  unwary.  But 
there  are  calm  days  at  Porthcawl  when  it  is  excel- 
lent to  sit  and  dream  among  the  tansies  on  the 
low  cliffs  with  an  eye  on  the  clean  half-circle 
of  sand  and  the  blue  curve  of  the  tide  as  it 
advances  or  retreats.  As  for  the  wildish  sur- 
roundings of  Porthcawl,  no  summer  haunt  could 
be  more  delightful  than  its  miles  of  dunes. 
"  There  are,"  writes  G.  RM  "  extraordinary  numbers 
of  wild  flowers,  many  in  their  miniature  state, 
to  be  gathered  here.  Nowhere  have  I  seen 
Viper's  Bugloss  grow  as  it  does  on  these  dunes 
in  wizard  rank  and  file.  It  is  a  queer  plant,  with 
its  grey-green  bristly  foliage  and  curved  flower- 
spikes  that  change  from  bright  rose-colour  to 
brilliant  hue.  It  was  a  friend  to  the  Greeks,  who 
gave  it  its  strange  name  of  Cow-tongue  Viper- 
bite  Healer ;  cow-tongued  because  the  curious  curve 
of  the  flower-spike  is  exactly  that  described  by 
the  tongue  of  the  cow  who  fetches  clothes  off  a 
hedge  or  tufts  of  grass  from  the  sod.  It  may 
have  been  some  Greek  herd-girl,  who,  while  she 
sat  on  the  ground  to  watch  her  cows  feed,  noted 
the  curious  prehensile  twist  of  the  tongue,  and 
first  gave  this  name  to  the  flower." 

In  the  sandy  desolation  east  of  Porthcawl  lies  all 
that  is  left  of  Kenfig  town  to-day :  a  scattered  ham- 
let with  the  last  fragment  of  a  castle  tower  thrust 

9 


130  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

up  like  the  hand  of  a  buried  man  through  the 
sand.  Entering  Kenfig  to-day  by  its  loneliest 
road  from  the  east,  one  hardly  believes  in  its 
existence  as  a  live  place,  so  dispersed  and  silent 
among  its  sands.  Even  its  church  tower  is  not 
at  once  visible,  and  the  few  houses  are  hidden 
in  the  perspective,  one  behind  another.  But  this 
loneliness  and  unusualness  makes  the  place  more 
interesting  in  the  day  of  towns.  Passing  by  the 
first  old  inn,  you  cross  the  sandy  turf,  find  a  sort 
of  sandy  lane  or  street,  and  make  the  circuit  then 
of  the  churchyard,  and  enter  by  the  stile  on  its 
west  side.  The  church  is  nothing  architecturally, 
but  it  is  in  tune  with  the  place. 

The  old  Town  Hall  is  now  the  Prince  of  Wales 
Inn,  and  there  may  be  seen  the  old  town  charters, 
and  other  documents,  bearing  witness  to  the 
Kenfig  that  was.  To-day  it  is  a  place  apart,  like 
no  other  that  I  know ;  an  amazing  place  with  an 
heroic  record :  the  struggle  of  the  community 
during  hundreds  of  years  with  an  irresistible 
army  of  sand,  whose  tents  and  entrenchments 
you  see  all  round  it.  "  The  sand  came  up  like 
snow  and  buried  the  houses,"  the  old  people  will 
tell  you.  To-day  the  drift  still  goes  on ;  while  six 
hundred  years  ago  it  was  coming  steadily  inland, 
each  storm  bringing  the  sand  higher.  The  first 
mention  of  these  inroads  is  preserved  in  the  record 
of  reduced  rent  for  a  warren  called  "  the  Rabbits' 
Pasture,"  "  because  the  great  party  is  drowned  by 
the  sea."  This  was  in  the  year  1316.  More  than 
two  hundred  years  later  the  good  traveller  John 
Leland  writes :  "  There  is  a  village  on  the  Est 
side  of  Kenfik  and  a  Castel,  booth  in  Ruines  and 
almost  shokid  and  devowrid  with  the  Sandes  that 
the  Severn  Se  ther  castith  up." 


NEWTON  NOTTAGE  131 

No  wonder  that  the  place  wears  the  look  of  wild 
desolation  to-day,  which  was  already  a  ruin  and 
desolation,  choked  and  devoured,  nearly  four 
centuries  ago. 

Yet  it  was  (for  that  day)  a  large  and  important 
town  that  waged  this  losing  battle,  as  we  learn 
from  the  Kenfig  ordinances  drawn  up  in  the 
fourth  year  of  Edward  III.,  which  any  curious 
persons  can  read  in  Mr.  Thomas  Gray's  admi- 
rable book  on  Kenfig.  It  was  a  walled  town 
with  paved  ways ;  it  had  from  seven  to  eight 
hundred  inhabitants.  It  had  a  river  up  which 
came  merchandise  and  timber  in  "  ship  lettes." 
It  had  a  stout  paternal  government  of  portreeve 
and  burgesses.  Most  of  the  houses  were  of  wood, 
and  the  town  was  not  only  drowned  in  sand,  but 
burned  again  and  again ;  for  the  nest  of  fighting- 
men  up  at  the  Castle  were  for  ever  waging  war, 
and  each  battle  that  came  up  against  it  first 
burned  the  town  by  way  of  recreation.  It  was 
for  ever  being  rebuilt,  and  later  on  more  soundly  : 
the  ordinances  certainly  disclose  a  most  respect- 
able state  of  things. 

In  these  days  of  licensed  shoddy  and  exploita- 
tion of  the  poor  by  rich  manufacturers,  it  is  a 
wholesome  lesson  upon  national  backsliding  to 
read  these  Kenfig  ordinances.  The  very  first  is 
that  "  Good  and  sufficient  bread "  of  "  true  size " 
shall  be  sold  to  the  inhabitants  "on  pain  of  a 
grievous  amerciment  at  the  portreeve's  pleasure." 
Then  comes  provision  for  good  and  wholesome 
ale  and  fresh  meat;  also  cheese,  butter,  eggs, 
capons,  and  other  "  good  and  wholesome  and 
sufficient  victuals  unblown."  The  leather  must 
be  good.  "  Every  tanner  using  the  mystery  of 
tanning  shall  sell  their  leather  well  and  sum1- 


132  THE   SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

ciently  tanned  accordingly,  upon  pain  of  forfeiture 
of  his  said  leather  or  a  fine." 

They  were  very  particular  to  keep  the  town 
tidy;  no  tradesman  or  housewife  must  throw 
anything  whatsoever  into  the  street ;  each  tenant 
cleans  his  own  piece  of  street ;  "  and  where  the 
streets  be  unpav'd,  every  man  to  pave  the  same, 
upon  pain  of  amerciament,  before  his  door."  No 
milking  was  to  be  done  in  the  town ;  "  nor  none 
shall  suffer  their  beasts  to  abide  in  the  High 
Street  nor  in  noe  other  street  by  night  nor  by 
day,  but  only  going  and  coming  to  and  from  their 
pastures."  "  Noe  manner  of  person  shall  have 
any  swine  going  within  the  town  walls." 

On  the  point  of  good  behaviour  these  burgesses 
were  quite  as  strict  as  on  that  of  cleanliness. 
"Noe  stranger  shall  walk  by  night  after  nine  of 
the  clock."  "  Noe  manner  of  person  shall  play  at 
dice,  cards,  bowles,  nor  no  other  unlawful  games 
within  the  said  town."  All  "licentious  naughti- 
packs  "  were  fined  ten  shillings.  "  Brawlers  and 
fighters  that  draweth  blood  the  one  upon  the 
other  shall  pay  three  and  fourpence  for  the 
bloodshed." 

Women  brawlers  were  differently  dealt  with. 
"  Item  it  is  ordained  that  if  any  woman  be  found 
guilty  [by  six  men]  of  scolding  or  railing  any 
burgess  or  their  wives  or  any  other  of  their 
neighbours,  then  she  to  be  brought  at  the  first 
fault  to  the  cucking-stool  there  to  sit  one  hour, 
and  the  second  fault  two  hours  and  third  fault 
to  lett  slippe" — that  is,  to  let  the  poor  scold  slip 
into  the  water. 

Alas  !  all  this  righteousness  could  not  save  the 
town  from  the  onslaught  of  the  sand.  A  hint  of 
this  ever-present  danger  can  be  discovered  in 


NEWTON  NOTTAGE  133 

the  wording  of  the  last  ordinance.  "  Noe  manner 
of  person  or  persons  whatsoever  shall  reap  any 
sedges  neither  draw  nor  pull  any  rootes  nor  cutt 
any  furzes  in  any  place  whatsoever,  nor  do  any 
other  thing  that  may  be  to  the  ruin,  destruction 
and  overthrow  of  the  said  burrough." 

More  than  two  hundred  years  after  the  expi- 
ring town  utters  a  sad  complaint,  which  is  ap- 
pended to  these  ordinances  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth.  The  poor  burgesses  "doe  yearly  fall 
in  arrearages  and  losses  .  .  .  by  reason  of  the 
overthrow,  blowing  and  choaking  up  of  sand  in 
drowning  of  our  town  and  church  "  (this  church 
is  completely  disappeared),  "  with  a  number  of 
acres  of  free  lands,  besides  all  the  burgages  of 
ground  within  the  said  lybertys  except  three  for 
the  which  burgages  so  lost  by  the  said  overthrow 
yett  nevertheless  the  rent  thereof  is  and  hath 
allways  been  paid  to  the  lords  receivers  to  the 
portreeve's  great  loss  and  hinderance."  Poor 
Portreeve. 

It  is  strange  that  Kenfig  should  not  only  have 
been  engulfed  in  sand,  but  that  there  should  be 
a  legend,  of  a  much  earlier  period,  retailed  by 
lolo  Morganwg,  to  the  effect  that  another  town 
was  swallowed  up  beneath  the  waters  of  Kenfig 
Pool.  The  Pool  is  not  visible  from  the  village, 
but  it  lies  within  half  a  mile  of  it.  You  have  but 
to  follow  westward  the  sandy  track  on  the  north 
side  of  the  church,  and  skirt  the  hedge  that 
divides  the  cultivated  fields,  then,  from  the  sandy 
heath,  and  as  the  last  enclosed  fields  ends,  make 
for  a  small  group  of  trees  a  little  ahead.  These 
trees  do  not  stand  on  the  edge  of  the  water,  as 
they  might  appear  to  do,  but  the  Pool  is  plain 
to  see  when  they  are  reached.  In  spite,  or  because 


134  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

of,  its  desolate  surroundings,  the  Pool  is  a  place 
that  exerts  a  positive  fascination,  quite  enough 
to  revive  the  feeling  that  the  Welsh  attached  to 
their  lakes  and  llyns  and  legends  of  lost  towns. 
The  teal  and  wild  duck,  as  they  take  wing  or  skim 
the  water,  lead  their  own  life,  undisturbed  by  the 
ghosts  of  the  past.  An  old  boathouse,  two  or 
three  paces  from  the  northern  shore,  stands  in 
the  water,  as  sole  sign  of  human  visitation  on  its 
banks. 

There  it  lies,  sweet-watered,  among  the  choking 
sand-hills  that  are  slowly  reducing  its  sixty-eight 
acres  ;  so  near  to  the  sea,  girt  round  with  sea-sand, 
below  the  sea-level,  and  yet  always  fresh.  The 
waters  of  the  sea  can  be  seen  when  the  sunlight 
favours,  shining  and  hovering  apparently  far  above 
its  head,  an  uncertain  ridge  of  sand-hills  between. 
As  you  look  into  the  pool,  you  do  not  wonder 
that  tradition  attached  a  tale  to  so  mysterious  a 
spot,  that  had  seen  Roman,  Norman,  and  Welshman 
alike  disappear. 

The  legend  of  Kenfig  Pool  is  very  like  that  told 
of  Llangorse  Lake,  or  Llyn  Safaddan,  in  Brecon- 
shire.  But  the  Kenfig  story  is  still  more  signifi- 
cant :  one  to  be  recalled  with  a  strange  context 
in  this  countryside  of  mixed  Welsh  and  Norman 
romance,  for  it  has  a  Welsh  hero,  in  love  with  a 
Norman  heroine,  a  daughter  of  the  Clares.  As 
he  is  too  poor  to  marry  so  rich  a  lady,  he  murders 
a  Norman  steward  on  the  road  from  Gloucester, 
to  get  enough  money  to  provide  for  the  match. 
On  the  wedding  night  a  fateful  cry,  "  Dial  a 
ddaw "  ("  Vengeance  shall  come "),  is  repeated 
thrice.  They  ask  when  vengeance  will  come,  and 
the  mysterious  voice  of  the  avenger  says,  "  In  the 
ninth  generation." 


NEWTON  NOTTAGE  135 

With  this  deferred  fate  the  newly-married  pair 
console  themselves.  What  does  it  matter,  when 
they  will  be  dead  long  before  the  day  of  vengeance 
comes?  But  Fate  knows  how  to  be  equal  with 
Time.  They  live  on,  far  past  the  human  term, 
and  see  one  generation  succeed  another,  until  the 
ninth  comes.  Then  a  descendant  of  the  murdered 
steward  of  nine  generations  before  remembers  the 
prediction,  and,  remembering,  returns  from  Caen 
to  Kenfig.  That  very  night  he  notices  that  not 
a  house  or  a  holding  in  Kenfig  but  is  held  by  the 
descendants  of  the  ill-fated  pair,  who  still  survive. 
Next  morning,  at  cockcrow,  the  same  voice  of 
Fate  is  heard  saying  "  Vengeance  is  come  ! "  The 
Norman  predestined  to  see  fate  accomplished, 
who  has  found  quarters  overnight  in  the  Castle, 
goes  to  look  for  the  city;  but  can  see  only 
a  great  lake  where  it  stood,  and  three  chimneys 
near  the  surface  of  the  pool  giving  forth  a 
foul  smoke  that  settles  in  a  scum  on  the  water. 
And  as  he  watches,  a  pair  of  gloves  comes 
floating  to  his  feet,  and  he  sees  they  bear  the 
name  and  arms  of  the  murdered  man  of  nine 
generations  before,  while  in  heaven  he  hears  the 
sound  of  many  voices  rejoicing,  no  doubt  in  the 
Norman  tongue !  The  realistic  touches  of  the 
close — the  fetid  smoke,  the  floating  gloves,  com- 
plete the  story  as  nothing  else  could. 

Thus  Kenfig  saw  in  its  midst  not  only  destroy- 
ing flames  and  the  overwhelming  fury  of  the 
sand,  but  also  the  overwhelming  waters  which 
legend  adds  to  its  strange  domicile. 

The  sand  is  now  extensively  worked,  and  trans- 
ported by  rail  for  building  and  other  purposes  ; 
and  many  a  drift  has  been  driven  into  the  vicinity 
of  the  old  town.  But  every  autumn  and  spring 


136  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

the  winds  more  than  make  good  the  exported 
sand.  To  prevent  its  further  encroachment,  the 
tenants  of  the  surrounding  farms  have  to  agree, 
as  one  of  the  conditions  of  their  lease,  to  plant  a 
certain  amount  of  the  burrows  with  the  sand  rush, 
Arundo  arenaria.  The  burrows  are  now  used  as 
a  rabbit-warren,  and  gamekeepers  are  apt  to 
think  the  amiable  antiquary,  in  the  quest  of  relics, 
a  new  kind  of  poacher  bent  on  interfering  with 
the  "  small  deer."  It  is  as  well,  therefore,  to  keep 
to  the  slender  tracks  which  cross  the  burrows  in 
all  directions,  lest  one  set  one's  foot  in  a  snare. 

The  last  echo  that  history  carries  to  us  from  a 
defeated  and  submerged  Kenfig  is  a  sinister  one 
enough.  Donovan,  travelling  through  South  Wales 
at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  writes  that 
"  the  distant  tower  of  Kenfig  church  serves  as 
the  best  guide,  there  being  only  a  cart-track 
besides  to  depend  upon.  Kenfig  once  harboured 
a  desperate  banditti  of  lurking  fellows  who  ob- 
tained a  profitable  livelihood  by  smuggling,  the 
plunder  of  wrecks,  &c.,  whom  it  was  necessary  to 
visit  with  caution." 

I  saw  no  trace  of  smugglers,  but  after  dark 
I  heard  a  cheerful  sound  from  an  inn  near  the 
church ;  like  the  last  of  the  Welsh  ballad-mongers 
using  his  art.  There,  by  a  great  fire,  sat  two 
sand-boys,  who  worked  in  filling  the  sand-carts 
and  wagons  by  day.  My  entering  silenced  them 
for  a  time,  but  after  supper,  when  I  returned 
from  the  parlour  to  the  long,  low  chamber  with 
the  cavern  of  a  hearth  at  its  end  within  which 
they  sat,  one  of  them,  after  much  pressing,  began 
to  sing,  or  rather  to  hum  behind  his  pipe,  a  mile- 
long  ballad  in  Welsh,  which  I  had  much  difficulty 
in  following.  Next  morning  the  rain  was  oceanic ; 


NEWTON  NOTTAGE  137 

and  I  amused  myself  with  a  rude  translation  of 
what  my  confused  memory  had  left  of  the  wicked 
"  Clerk  of  Kenfig":— 

THE  CLERK  OP  KENFIG. 

The  Clerk  of  Kenfig  is  drinking  hard, — 

Drinking  night  and  day  ; 
He  cannot  bear  the  driving  sand, 
Salt  with  the  sea,  wild  with  the  wind, 

That  blows  from  Kenfig  bay. 

This  night,  I  think,  the  sou'west  wind 

Is  worse  than  ever  it  was  : 
The  Clerk, — he  had  better  pray  than  drink, 
For  the  sand  might  be  blown  from  Pharaoh's  land 

By  a  blast  of  the  Samoon's  jaws. 

It  is  in  the  church  and  over  the  graves  : 

It  is  in  at  the  Clerk's  own  door : 
He  has  swept  it  up,  but  what  is  this 
Doth  spin  and  twine  in  spirals  fine 

Its  thin  thread  on  the  floor? 

The  Clerk  is  afraid  to  go  to  his  bed ; 

He  has  piled  the  hearth  up  higher ; 
But  the  sand  comes  down  the  chimney -louvre  ; 
The  grit  is  in  his  drinking-cup, 

The  silt  puts  out  the  fire. 

And  still  he  sat  and  still  he  drank 

Until  the  night  grew  old : 
And  then  there  came  a  triple  knock 
Upon  the  door,  upon  his  heart ; 

It  made  his  heart  turn  cold. 

And  "Come,  good  Clerk,"  and  "Come  with  me!" 

A  voice  said  at  the  door : 

This  night,  thou  know'st,  is  All  Saints'  night : 
"The  church  is  full,  the  dead-folk  wait; 
"They  have  waited  this  hour  and  more." 


138 


Thereat  he  gat  him  up  ;  but  when 

The  Clerk  undid  the  door, 
The  sand  fell  in  like  a  heavy  man, 
And  like  a  man-tall  drift  of  snow 

Lay  huddled  on  the  floor. 

It  lay  there  like  a  drunken  man, 

That  could  not  rise  again  : 
But  what  might  be  an  angry  hand 
Was  at  the  priest,  to  have  him  out 

Into  the  rigid  rain. 
***** 

"Stand  up,  good  Clerk,  in  Kenfig  church: 

"Unsay  the  word  you  said, — 
' '  The  dead  who  lay  beneath  the  sand 
' '  Should  never  rise  at  the  Lord's  right  hand 

"At  the  rising  of  the  dead!  .  .   ." 

' '  And  Christ  thee  keep,  thou  cruel  Clerk ; 

' '  And  Mary  in  her  might ; 
' '  Around  thee  kneel  the  blessed  dead  : 
"And  thou  shalt  say  the  Creed,  and  pray, 

"And  preach  Christ  risen  this  night!" 

He  saw  them  kneel,  as  he  fear'd  to  see, — 

The  folk  of  Kenfig  there,— 
Yes,  Roger  Dunn,  and  Mary  John, 
And  the  Spanish  captain  that  was  stabb'd 

By  the  old  squire  of  Sker. 

He  feared  to  see  them  stare  on  him, — 

A  death's-head  every  one : 
But  their  faces  gleam  as  they  gaze  on  him, 
And  their  eyes  beseech  like  marigolds 

That  do  beseech  the  sun. 

They  stare  on  him,  not  stained  with  death, 

But  cloth'd  in  white  and  clean  ; 
Yes,  white  as  sea-mews  by  the  sea, 
He  sees  them  kneel  there  blessedly, — 
And  not  a  death's-head  seen. 


NEWTON  NOTTAGE  139 

Stand  up,  good  Clerk  ;  stand  up  and  preach 

"  The  Resurrection  !  " 

But  the  sand  hath  parched  his  nether  lip, 
He  cannot  say  a  word  nor  pray  : 

His  grace  hath  from  him  gone. 

Yet  now  the  Holy  Rood  hath  found 

A  voice  to  call  them  home : 
It  speaks  them  kindly,  one  by  one, 
And  one  by  one,  the  dead  are  gone, 

Like  sea-mews  from  the  foam. 

The  rood  was  bright  with  candle-light 

Until  the  last  was  flown  ; 
The  darker  then  the  mortal  dark 
That  settled  on  the  soulless  Clerk 

Like  the  night  of  Babylon. 

Christ  keep  thy  feet  in  Kenfig  street, 

And  save  them  in  the  sand, 
Where  the  cruel  Clerk  of  Kenfig  lies 
That  did  deny  the  dead  to  rise 

And  sit  at  Christ's  right  hand. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

MARGAM  AND  MARGAM  PARK — THE  ABBEY  AND 
THE  ORANGERY — MONASTIC  THRIFT — OETH  AND 
ANOETH — PEN  DAR  "THE  OAK  SUMMIT" 

IT  is  but  an  hour's  walk  from  Kenfig-in-the-Sands 
to  Margam-in-the-Trees,  but  the  two  places  might 
be  leagues  apart ;  they  are  in  different  worlds. 
House  and  church  at  Margam  are  tree-sheltered, 
situate  with  every  green  favouring  circumstance 
about  them.  The  well-stocked  deer-park,  the  lake 
that  is  passed  on  the  way  from  the  church  to  the 
house,  and  the  old  camp  on  the  mound  two  hundred 
yards  north-east  of  the  mansion,  the  oak-clad  moun- 
tain above,  and  the  wooded  mountain  cwm,  give  the 
scene  a  wealth  of  verdure  which  at  Kenfig  you 
could  not  believe  to  be  possible. 

The  actual  Abbey,  however  (including  the  old 
west  front),  converted  into  a  spacious  parish 
church,  struck  me  as  rather  bare  and  much  more 
impressive  within  than  without.  Externally  the 
effect,  as  the  restored  portions  have  not  had  time 
to  gain  any  softening  of  age,  is  cold.  The  tombs 
of  the  Talbot  family,  and  in  their  far  finer  degree 
the  little  collection  of  old  Celtic  crosses,  lend 
statuesque  effect  to  the  north  and  south  aisles. 
There  are  the  rich  monuments  too  of  the  Mansel 
family;  notably  one  with  figured  panels  of 
alabaster,  quaintly  ornate  in  design.  On  the 

140 


MARGAM  AND  MARGAM  PARK    141 

opposite  side  of  the  church,  in  the  north  aisle,  is 
the  tomb  and  marble  effigy  of  one  of  the  Talbots, 
who  died  young  in  1883.  The  round-arched 
western  doorway  shows  how  fine  the  original 
Norman  building  must  have  been. 

John  Pritchard,  the  Llandaff  architect,  says  of  the 
Abbey :  "  Like  most  Cistercian  churches,  the  place 
consisted  of  a  nave  with  north  and  south  aisles, 
a  central  tower  flanked  by  north  and  south  tran- 
septs with  their  eastern  aisles ;  behind  these  came 
a  magnificent  choir  with  its  north  and  south  aisles, 
and  in  close  contiguity  to  the  south  transept  there 
is  a  superb  chapter-house,  in  front  of  which  was 
the  large  cloistered  court,  surrounded  by  the  usual 
various  buildings,  which  in  general  arrangement 
are  said  to  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  those  of 
Westminster  Abbey.  At  the  east  end  is  a  Norman 
central  doorway,  and  over  it  three  Norman 
windows.  Inside,  the  arcades  are  Norman,  con- 
sisting of  six  bays,  and  they  occupy  a  space  of  115 
feet,  which  is  the  limit  of  the  existing  church. 
Beyond  this  was  the  thirteenth-century  church, 
with  central  tower  and  a  magnificent  choir,  82  feet 
long,  with  north  and  south  aisles,  unfortunately 
all  destroyed.  At  right  angles  to  the  church  were  the 
dormitories  over  a  length  of  vaulted  cellarage,  the 
northern  end  of  which  had  a  handsome  vestibule 
with  a  fine  central  doorway  leading  from  the 
cloisters  to  the  chapter-house.  Its  internal 
diameter  is  50  feet  and  circular  in  plan,  with  an 
elegant  central  clustered  shaft,  from  which  springs 
an  elaborately  groined  ceiling  divided  into  twelve 
bays." 

The  chapter-house  roof  fell  in  1799,  since  which 
the  decay  of  the  place  has  given  way  to  continual 
restoration. 


142  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

The  Orangery,  on  the  south-west  of  the  house, 
was  built  in  1770  by  the  father  of  the  "  Father  of 
the  House  of  Commons."  It  stands  on  the  site  of 
the  old  residence  of  the  Rice  Hansels,  which  had  its 
orangery,  too,  filled  with  trees,  and  with  other  rare 
plants  wrecked  off  the  coast,  on  their  way  from 
Spain  to  the  Thames.  Out  of  doors  many  trees 
that  love  the  south — bays  and  maples — flourish  at 
Margam,  owing  to  its  protected  site,  in  an  extra- 
ordinary way.  In  the  woods  above  the  oak  is 
king,  clothing  the  slopes  of  the  stream  and  the 
steeper  hillsides. 

The  name  of  Margam — said  by  some  topographers 
to  come  from  Madoc  Gam,  or  Mawrgam,  son  of 
Caradoc  ab  lestyn,  and  one  of  the  traditional 
founders  of  the  Abbey  in  1147 — is  probably 
"  Morgan  "  only  in  disguise.  Gerald  the  Welshman 
visited  Margam  with  Archbishop  Baldwin  in  the 
same  century.  A  little  later  came  King  John,  who 
held  the  place  in  great  favour ;  and  no  doubt  he 
was  royally  entertained.  But  here  is  Gerald's 
account  of  its  miraculous  hospitality  : — 

"  This  monastery,  under  the  direction  of  Conan, 
a  learned  and  prudent  abbot,  was  at  this  time  more 
celebrated  for  its  charitable  deeds  than  any  other 
of  that  order  in  Wales.  On  this  account  it  is  an 
undoubted  fact  that,  as  a  reward  for  that  abundant 
charity  which  the  monastery  had  always  in  time  of 
need  exercised  towards  strangers  and  poor  persons, 
in  a  season  of  approaching  famine,  their  corn  and 
provision  were  perceptibly  by  Divine  assistance 
increased,  like  the  widow's  cruse  of  oil  by  the 
means  of  the  prophet  Elijah." 

There  are  indeed  corroborating  records  preserved 
among  the  Margam  Abbey  charters  of  grants  of 
seed-corn  and  other  relief  dispensed  to  poor  neigh- 


MARGAM  AND  MARGAM  PARK   143 

hours  in  time  of  scarcity;  but  by  far  the  larger 
number  of  documents  relate  to  the  ceaseless 
industry  of  the  monks  in  collecting  the  land  itself 
in  return  for  grants  of  ploughs  and  corn.  The 
monks  will  undertake  to  feed  and  clothe  a  poor 
man  who  has  a  few  acres  and  is  in  "  urgent  need," 
and  they  will  have  his  land  of  him  in  return.  It  is 
astonishing  how  much  land  they  swept  up  in  this 
way,  and  how  enormously  rich  and  powerful  they 
became.  Widows,  it  seems,  were  a  fruitful  source 
of  profit :  they  parted  with  land  and  houses  for 
small  sums  of  ready  money  and  the  powerful 
countenance  of  the  monastery.  Poor  people  often 
mortgaged  their  land  too,  and  there  are  frequent 
instances  of  this  mortgaged  land  passing  entirely 
over  to  the  monks. 

It  is  well  to  keep  in  mind  this  side  of  monastical 
tactics  without  forgetting  the  other;  the  monks 
were  able,  learned,  and  prudent  men;  they  were 
industrious  and  hard-working,  first-rate  agricul- 
turists, the  only  gardeners  of  the  time.  The  monks 
of  Margam  were,  after  the  Romans,  the  only 
mineralogists;  it  was  they  who  first  sought  for 
and  found  the  minerals  of  South  Wales.  Besides 
this,  the  monastery  was  the  hospital  and  work- 
house of  the  district,  and  they  comforted  (an 
important  point)  as  well  as  relieved  the  suffering 
and  wayfarer. 

Gerald  himself  supplies  us  with  two  most  naively 
told  little  stories,  which  perfectly  illustrate  both 
these  monastic  functions. 

"About  the  time  of  its  foundation,"  says  he,  "a  young 
man  of  these  parts,  by  birth  a  Welshman,  having  claimed 
and  endeavoured  to  apply  to  his  own  use  certain  lands  which 
had  been  given  to  the  monastery,  by  the  instigation  of  the 
devil  set  on  fire  the  best  barn  belonging  to  the  monks,  which 


144  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

was  filled  with  corn  :  but  immediately  becoming  mad,  he  ran 
about  the  country  in  a  distracted  state  .  .  .  and  in  a  few 
days  expired,  uttering  the  most  miserable  complaints." 

Here  is  the  other  and  handsomer  side  of  the 
picture : — 

"  In  our  time  too,  in  a  period  of  scarcity,  while  great 
multitudes  of  poor  were  daily  crowding  before  the  gates 
for  relief,  by  the  unanimous  consent  of  the  brethren,  a  ship 
was  sent  to  Bristol  to  purchase  corn  for  charitable  purposes. 
The  vessel,  delayed  by  contrary  winds,  and  not  returning 
(but  rather  affording  an  opportunity  for  the  miracle),  on  the 
very  day  when  there  would  have  been  a  total  deficiency  of 
corn  both  for  the  poor  and  the  convent,  a  field  near  the 
monastery  was  found  suddenly  to  ripen  more  than  a  month 
before  the  usual  time  of  harvest ;  thus,  divine  Providence 
supplied  the  brotherhood  and  the  numerous  poor  with 
sufficient  nourishment  until  autumn." 

Older  memories  still  than  those  of  the  monks 
cling  to  Margam;  the  ghost  of  a  grisly  old  tale, 
alive  since  Roman  times,  haunts  the  hillside  and 
the  plain-land  of  Margam.  For  here,  according  to 
ancient  history,  a  great  battle  was  fought  between 
Caradoc  and  the  Romans  ;  and  when  the  dogs  and 
the  wolves  and  the  ravens  were  done  with  the  bones, 
they  lay  like  a  white  sheet  over  the  land.  Then 
Manawyddan,  the  son  of  Llyr,  caused  these  bones 
to  be  gathered  up  (the  bones  of  the  Csesarians,  he 
called  them),  and  likewise  all  the  Roman  bones 
anywhere  to  be  found,  and  he  had  them  made  into 
a  great  mound.  For  a  while  he  reflected,  gazing 
upon  them  (Manawyddan  was  a  powerful  wizard 
chieftain) ;  then  the  idea  came  to  him  to  have  the 
bones  mixed  with  lime  and  built  up  into  a  prison 
for  captives  taken  in  war,  and  he  called  it  the 
Prison  of  Oeth  and  Annoeth  (Power  and  Weak- 


MARGAM  AND  MARGAM  PARK   145 

ness).  In  process  of  time  the  bones  rotted,  and  the 
walls  were  pulled  down  and  spread  over  the  valley, 
and  a  great  crop  of  wheat  and  barley  grew  up  the 
next  year.  We  can  believe  as  much  of  this  story 
as  we  like ;  but  one  thing  is  certain,  here  is  a 
theatre  of  wild  events ;  here  runs  the  Roman  road 
over  hill  and  valley  to  Kenfig;  and  we  may  be  con- 
fident that  where  Roman  and  Celt,  Celt  and  Saxon, 
Celt  and  Norman  met,  there  were  sanguine  doings. 
The  Roman  roads  and  the  great  Norman  castle 
chain  were  never  built  to  subdue  an  ignoble  enemy. 
The  climbing  oaks  on  the  mountain-side  above 
Margam  Park,  in  which  the  wind  sometimes  makes 
a  noise  curiously  like  that  of  hidden  waterfalls, 
affirm  the  age  of  the  place.  The  Welsh  called  the 
old  plas  in  which  the  immemorial  Morgan  or 
Morcant  lived  after  the  Oak  Hill,  Pen  Dar — that  is, 
Head  or  Summit  of  the  Oaks.  "  Derw,"  or  "  Derwen," 
the  Oak  Tree  ("  Dar,"  plural),  is  a  word  of  force  in 
Welsh  tradition.  You  must  roll  the  "  r  "  well  in 
speaking  it,  as  if  you  really  heard  the  wind 
roughen  in  the  Margam  oaks  on  the  day  when 
the  equinoctial  gale  blows  away  the  last  shred 
of  summer.  The  Welsh  term  for  a  Druid, 
"Derwydd,"  puts  an  oak-tree  at  once  over  his 
head;  he  becomes  a  folk-lore  creature  like  the 
Old  Green  Man  of  Gloster  or  Wild  Man  of 
the  Woods.  "  Tir  gwydd "  is  rough  forest-land, 
land  that  has  never  been  ploughed  or  tilled.  There 
is  a  strange  couplet  in  a  poem  of  Meilir,  which 
suggests  that  you  had  better  know  your  oakwood 
before  you  break  faith  with  your  friends  : — 

"  Yni  fwyf  gennefln  a  dervvin  wydd, 

Ni  thoraf  a'm  car  fy  ngharennydd." 

("Till    I    am    used   to   the   oakwood,    I   will   not  break 
friendship  with  iny  friend."  ) 

10 


146  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

"  Yr  Wyddfa,"  you  will  remember,  is  the  wildest 
and  highest  crest  of  Snowdon. 

Two  things  you  read  in  the  Margam  records  are 
calculated  to  make  you  look  back  to  the  Kenfig 
sands,  and  then  strain  your  eyes  seaward  for  a  vain 
glimpse  of  Lundy  Island,  as  you  climb  Margam 
Hill.  One  is  that  the  first  serious  invasion  of  the 
Glamorgan  coast  by  blown  sand  was  as  early  as 
the  year  1384.  The  other  was  that  the  Abbot  of 
Margam  got  into  trouble  for  abusing  the  right  of 
sanctuary.  He  had,  in  fact,  given  harbour  to  that 
desperate  pirate  and  outlaw,  William  de  Marisco, 
when  he  was  ousted  from  his  sea-eyrie  in  Lundy 
Island  ;  of  whom  we  shall  hear  more  when  we  sail 
across  thither.  The  putting  out  of  William  de 
Marisco,  with  something  in  his  pocket,  from  the 
Abbey  gate  by  the  too-hospitable  great  cleric  was  a 
scene  to  be  put  into  drama.  But  you  must  look 
for  that  gateway  of  the  Abbey  in  a  meadow  across 
the  road,  far  from  the  present  entrances. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  TOWN,  CASTLE,  ABBEY  AND  VALE  OF  NEATH — 
AN  OLD  TOWN — A  CASTLE  OF  THE  GBANVILLES — 
A  CISTERCIAN  HOUSE — AND  A  VALLEY  OF  WATER- 
FALLS 

"  From  the  sea  they  made  their  way  towards  Wales,  to  the 
Castle  of  Noeth,  wandering  hither  and  thither  like  convicts, 
fugitives,  and  daft  persons." — HENRY  OF  KNIGHTON. 

HENRY  OF  KNIGHTON'S  "  Castle  of  Noeth,"  or  the 
Castle  of  Neath,  was  all  but  another  lost  castle 
when  the  modern  town  that  seemed  ready  to 
swallow  it  up  turned  its  protector  and  converted 
its  ruins  and  last-threatened  gateway  into  an 
urban  pleasance  with  a  charming  view  up  the 
Vale.  A  good  market  town,  Neath  is  still  seen 
in  its  plenitude  on  a  fair-day,  when  country 
stalls  eke  out  the  shops,  and  the  country  people, 
making  an  indescribable  hum  and  gossip,  crowd 
the  streets ;  for  then  the  scene  best  recalls  the 
mediaeval  market  held  under  the  strong  arm  and 
the  haughty  castle-walls  of  the  Granvilles.  The 
parish  church  hardly  lives  up  to  the  ecclesiastical 
gold  and  purple  of  Neath  and  Neath  Abbey;  but 
it  was,  so  far  as  much  restoration  permits  one  to 
say,  a  noble  as  it  is  still  an  ample  building.  The 
Castle,  as  you  gaze  on  its  towered  gateway,  will 

147 


148  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

strike  you  as  very  like  that  you  saw  at  Llan- 
blethian  ;  here  the  surrounding  houses  have  eaten 
up  most  of  the  walls,  and  seem  none  the  better  for 
it.  Tramways  run  through  the  Neath  streets  and 
out  into  the  black  country  beyond ;  and  one  can- 
not do  better,  when  going  to  Neath  Abbey,  than 
take  the  tram.  But  let  the  story  of  this  old  town 
briefly  rehearse  itself  first. 

Neath—"  Castell  Nedd  "  in  Welsh  "—is  the  Latin 
"  Nidum "    of    the    Antoninean    Itineraries,     and 
formed   an  important   station  in  the   "via  Julia 
Maritima."    Then,    when    Fitzhamon    parted   the 
lands  of  this  district,  he  gave  the  town  to  Richard 
de  Granville,  who  built  about  the  Castle  and  the 
Abbey,  probably  employing  Lales  as  builder.     The 
Castle   saw   some   fighting   at  various   times.     In 
Stephen's   reign  the   sons   of   Caradoc    ab    lestyn 
attacked  the  town  and  its  Norman  castle,  men  and 
castellan,  and  defeated  them,  according  to  Welsh 
tradition,  with  frightful  slaughter,  three  thousand 
falling  in  the  battle.     One  wonders  if  they  chose  a 
market-day  for  the  attack — a  favourite  time  for 
castle  surprises.     The  next  overtaking  was  when 
Morgan  Gam  and  Llewelyn  ab  lorwerth,  retalia- 
ting   for  Norman   wrongs   elsewhere,    burnt    the 
Castle  and  sacked  the  town,  marching  west  from 
Kenfig.     Neath  obtained,  through  the  interest  of 
the  De  Spencers,  a  new  charter  from  Edward  II., 
who,   as   Henry    of    Knighton    and    others    have 
already  told  us,  passed  through   the  town  on  his 
last  unhappy  Welsh  jonrney,  to  be  taken  at  Llan- 
trisant.     The  copper,  tin,  iron,  and  chemical  works 
that  give  the  town  its  modern  industrial  effect — 
and  its  smoke,  alas  ! — date  back  to  the  eighteenth 
century.     The   Corporation    Seal    shows    a   castle 
with  two   meaner    buildings  on    either  side,  pro- 


Photo  by] 


[Williams  &•  Ctirnuck,  Newport,  Man. 
NEATH  :    THE  OLD   CHURCH. 


To  face  p.  149. 


THE  VALE  OF  NEATH  149 

phetic,  as  one  supposes,  of  its  factories  and  foundry 
sheds. 

The  river  Neath  ("  afon  Nedd  ")  is  tidal  beyond 
the  town,  and  navigable  for  the  smaller  kind  of 
craft.  At  low  water  there  were  several  fords  in 
use  before  the  river  was  bridged  ;  and  very  unsafe 
the  lower  ones  were,  if  we  can  judge  by  Gerald  de 
Barri's  most  exact  account  of  how  he  and  the 
Archbishop  crossed  this  water  in  their  role  of 
spiritual  knights-errant.  They  were  on  their  way 
from  Margam,  and  had  a  Welsh  prince,  Morgan  ap 
Caradog,  for  guide ;  and  made  the  passage  at  the 
river-mouth,  where,  because  of  the  quicksands, 
says  Gerald,  this  is  the  most  dangerous  water  to 
cross  in  all  the  South  country.  One  of  his  pack- 
horses  sank  in  the  sand,  and  was  hardly  saved, 
and  then  only  at  the  cost  of  some  damage  to  this 
intrepid  book-man's  precious  books.  As  for  Gerald 
and  the  Archbishop,  they  gave  up  the  ford  after 
all,  and  crossed  by  boat.  But  very  keenly  one 
smells  the  salt-sand,  and  realises  the  wet  shore  at 
the  Aber  of  Nedd  as  one  reads  Gerald's  page. 

The  water-meadows  between  the  town  and 
Castle  of  Neath  and  the  Abbey  were  once  pro- 
verbial for  their  greenness.  Now  they  are  a 
grimy  desert.  The  easier  way,  as  we  said,  to  the 
Abbey  is  by  tram  from  Howard  Square  ;  the  con- 
ductor will  put  you  down  at  the  old  Copper-works 
crossing,  where  you  can  turn  down  the  line  to  the 
gate  of  the  Abbey.  The  ruin,  in  its  extraordinary 
gloomy  predicament  of  smoke-soiled,  weather-worn 
and  hopeless  decay,  is  like  nothing  else  in  the 
countryside.  Its  architecture,  too,  is  confusing  at 
first,  because  the  Hoby  family  converted  the  place 
into  a  Tudor  seat  in  the  year  1650.  Tudor  windows 
and  gables  are  seen  here  and  there  incongruously 


150  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

wedded  by  the  ivy  to  the  old  Norman  arches  and 
parapets.  The  Hoby  house  is  at  the  right-hand 
corner  as  you  enter.  The  nave  and  choir  of  the 
church  are  easily  recognisable  ;  and  so  are  some 
of  the  living  apartments — the  abbot's  lodging  and 
the  broken  inner  wall  of  the  refectory.  After  the 
first  melancholy  of  the  ruins  has  passed  from  the 
explorer's  mind,  and  a  working  acquaintance  with 
the  place  and  its  details  has  been  set  up  by  an 
hour  or  two's  investigation,  he  begins  to  restore 
the  faded  colours  and  ancient  splendour  of  the 
magnificent  picture  of  the  Abbey  by  Lewis 
Morganwg : — 

"Like  the  sky  of  the  Vale  of  Ebron  is  its  covering; 
weighty  is  the  lead  that  roofs  this  abode — the  dark-blue 
canopy  of  the  dwellings  of  the  godly.  Every  colour  is  seen 
in  the  crystal  windows  ;  every  fair  and  high-wrought  form 
beams  through  them  like  rays  of  the  sun-portals  of  radiant 
guardians.  Here  are  seen  the  gold-adorned  choir,  the  nave, 
the  gilded  tabernacle  work,  the  pinnacles ;  on  the  glass, 
imperial  arms  ;  on  the  ceiling,  kingly  bearings  ;  and  on  the 
surrounding  border  the  shields  of  princes,  the  arms  of  Neath 
of  a  hundred  ages  ;  the  arms  of  the  best  men  under  the 
crown  of  Harry.  The  vast  and  lofty  roof  is  like  the  spark- 
ling heavens  on  high  ;  above  are  seen  archangels'  forms  ;  the 
floor  beneath  is  for  the  people  of  the  earth,  all  the  tribe  of 
Babel — for  them  it  is  wrought  of  variegated  stone.  The 
bells,  the  benedictions,  and  the  peaceful  songs  of  praise, 
proclaim  the  peaceful  thanksgivings  of  the  White  Monks." 

The  White  Monks  were  Cistercians.  At  the  dis- 
solution of  the  monasteries  the  revenues  were 
valued  at  £150  per  annum.  When  the  Hoby 
family  gave  up  residence  here,  it  fell  presently 
into  the  state  of  a  kind  of  Cadgers'  Hall,  and  was 
allowed  to  run  into  utter  neglect.  At  present,  it 
is  well  cared  for  by  the  Dynevor  family,  whose 


THE  VALE   OF  NEATH  151 

property  it  eventually  became.  But  all  the  sur- 
roundings, the  wild  marsh,  the  smoky  desolation 
made  by  man,  seem  to  call  out  for  decay. 

Richard  de  Granville,  who  founded  the  Abbey 
about  1120,  is  said  to  have  been  tormented  by 
remorse  for  his  sins — we  can  hardly  suppose  by 
qualms  for  his  sins  against  the  Welsh,  because 
those  did  not  count  for  much  in  the  Norman  esti- 
mate— and  his  remorse,  taking  urgency  in  a  mortal 
dream,  led  him  to  think  of  bribing  the  Church  and 
Heaven  by  the  truly  munificent  bribe  of  Neath 
Abbey.  The  Welsh  name  for  the  place,  "  Abbaty 
Glyn  Nedd,"  the  Abbot's  House  in  the  Vale  of 
Neath,  suggests  that  its  surroundings  were  once 
fair  enough  to  be  ranked  with  the  wilder  natural 
beauties  of  a  vale  still  famous  for  them.  The 
effigy  of  Abbot  Adam  of  Carmarthen,  that  used  to 
lie  in  a  field  near  the  Abbey,  is  now  removed  to  a 
safer  spot  in  the  grounds  of  Court  Herbert. 

But  the  water  of  Nedd  that  goes  seaward  past 
the  old  "  Abbaty "  is  one  of  the  most  incalculable 
of  the  wanton  rivers  of  this  river-shot  country. 
Above  the  town,  the  stream  brings  one  into  a 
country  of  watery  sensations  and  rocky  surprises — 
a  country  of  the  water-fall  and  the  water-kelpie, 
and  of  countless  legends.  Every  turn  of  the  Vale 
starts  a  half -forgotten  folk-tale  and  a  lurking  tra- 
dition of  the  kind  that  fed  the  mediaeval  tales  with 
Welsh  furmety. 

Pont  Neath  Vaughan  is  the  base  from  which  to 
explore  the  upper  Vale  of  Neath  and  its  waterfalls. 
As  the  name  declares,  it  bridges  the  Neath  (or 
Nedd),  and  it  stands  very  near  the  confluence  of 
that  stream  and  its  wild  tributary,  the  Mellte. 
The  road  from  Glyn  Neath  Station,  2£  miles  away, 
runs  alongside  the  railway  line  on  leaving  that 


152  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

station  for  a  space  of  two  hundred  yards,  and  then 
dodges  under  a  railway-arch,  and  so  makes  for  the 
river,  which  it  crosses.  Then,  turning  presently 
north,  it  follows  the  old  Neath  and  Merthyr  Canal, 
skirting  Aberpergwm  Park,  with  its  pleasant  hall 
standing  back  towards  the  wooded  hill,  capped 
by  Craig  Llwyd.  In  this  hillside  are  one  or  two 
shy  streamlets,  with  rarely  visited  cascades,  quite 
worth  exploration.  They  may  be  reached  by  a 
rough  lane,  turning  left  at  the  lower  end  of  Glyn 
Neath  village,  and  ascending  the  hill.  A  daughter 
of  Aberpergwm  it  was — Jane  Williams — who  did 
good  service  to  Welsh  music  by  collecting  many  of 
the  airs  in  her  volume  of  songs,  and  became  the 
pioneer  of  the  "  Welsh  Folk  Song  Society  "  that  is 
now  doing  the  same  lyric  service. 

Passing  Aberpergwm,  the  road  crosses  the  canal, 
and  arrives  at  the  Lamb  and  Flag  Inn,  an  old 
coaching  inn.  Another  turn  right,  and  then 
another  half-mile  straight  ahead  will  bring  you 
to  the  straggling  village  of  Glyn  Neath,  and  so 
to  Pont  Neath  Vaughan.  Thence  again  the  road 
zigzags  through  a  twisted  street  and  splits,  send- 
ing one  branch  down  to  the  Mellte  glen  and  on  to 
Craig-y-Dinas,  while  another  climbs  the  bank  on 
the  main  road  to  Ystradfellte.  On  the  water-side 
one  must  not  be  discouraged  by  a  brick-works  nor 
the  gate  of  a  powder-works,  for  a  footbridge  leads 
thence  across  the  stream,  and  turns  to  skirt  Craig- 
y-Dinas,  rock  of  many  legends,  which  indeed  still 
looks  ominous. 

As  the  face  of  Craig-y-Dinas  shows  you  at  a 
glance,  the  stone  has  been  quarried  heavily  in  the 
last  fifty  years.  Pictures  of  it  as  it  was  a  century 
ago,  allowing  for  a  little  artistic  exaggeration, 
show  a  more  giantesque  front ;  but  it  still  looks  a 


THE  VALE  OF  NEATH  153 

strange  legend-provoking  monster  with  its  lime- 
stone shoulder  starting  up  clean-cut  in  the  Vale. 
From  above,  and  standing  on  its  brink,  one 
imagines  a  fall  over  it  to  be  a  dead-sure  thing; 
but  a  few  years  ago  a  drunken  man  incontinently 
fell  from  it,  and,  extraordinary  to  relate,  recovered 
from  his  wounds  and  broken  bones. 

Beneath  the  rock,  Craig-y-Dinas,  lie  sleeping 
and  awaiting  the  day  of  Welsh  deliverance — so 
runs  one  of  the  most  mysterious  of  all  the  "  Sleep- 
ing Warriors"  folk-tales — in  a  deep  dreamless 
sleep,  the  soldiers  of  Owain  Lawgoch.  Another 
version  makes  the  hero  King  Arthur  himself.  A 
shepherd  boy  (so  the  story  goes)  cut  a  hazel-stick 
from  a  tree  that  grew  upon  Craig-y-Dinas,  and 
went  one  market-day  to  the  town  of  Neath. 
There  a  stranger,  an  old  wandering  beggar-man 
with  a  staff  and  a  long  grey  beard,  paused  as  the 
boy  passed  by  the  lines  of  cattle,  and  fastening  his 
eyes  on  the  hazel-stick  asked  its  owner  where  he 
got  it. 

"  On  Craig-y-Dinas  !  "  answered  the  boy.  The 
old  beggar-man  was  seized  with  a  trembling. 
"  Take  me  there  I "  he  said,  "  and  you  shall  have 
all  the  gold  you  can  carry  for  your  trouble !  So 
the  boy  led  the  old  man  up  the  vale  to  Craig-y- 
Dinas,  and  up  its  sides,  till  he  came  to  the  place 
where  he  had  cut  the  hazel-wand.  Close  beside 
was  a  cleft  in  the  limestone,  and  this  afforded  a 
narrow  entrance  to  the  top  of  a  rude  stairway, 
descending  into  the  rock.  The  old  man  pointed 
the  way,  and  the  boy  entered,  and  so  descending 
they  found  their  way  into  a  dimly  lit,  lofty  cavern, 
ten  times  larger  than  Porth-yr-Ogov.  Here  the 
dim  light  disclosed  a  confused  array  of  sleeping 
soldiers  with  their  spears  and  shields  and  breast- 


154  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

plates  stacked  about  them.  One  of  these  stacks 
the  boy  in  the  half-darkness  overturned,  and  the 
noise  disturbed  the  sleepers.  In  their  midst  slept 
the  chieftain,  Owain  of  the  Red  Hand,  and  rising 
amid  them  he  stood  up,  asking,  "  Is  the  day 
come  ?  " 

Whereupon  the  boy,  who  had  been  prompted 
by  the  Grey  Beggarman,  answered,  "  No  ! — Nagyw, 
cysgwch  eto ! "  Cold  with  terror,  the  boy  stood 
watching  as  the  warriors,  with  a  sigh,  sank  again 
into  their  deep  slumbers.  Then,  remembering  the 
old  man's  words,  he  seized  upon  a  leathern  bag  that 
was  full  of  golden  coins  and  carried  it  off  to  his 
guide,  who  bade  him  quickly  return  for  more.  But 
when  he  would  have  entered  the  cave  his  hands 
struck  against  the  damp  stones.  He  returned  then 
to  ask  the  Beggarman  what  he  should  do.  But 
night  had  fallen  by  this,  and  the  old  fellow  had 
disappeared,  and  the  boy  found  himself  wandering 
like  one  bewitched  on  the  edges  of  Craig-y-Dinas. 
After  that  night  he  was  never  able  to  find  the 
cave  again  ;  and  so  the  soldiers  of  Owain  Lawgoch 
still  sleep  there  enchanted,  waiting  till  the  day  of 
deliverance  shall  come,  when  they  shall  start  up, 
full  armed,  to  deliver  the  Cymric  realm. 

One  of  the  things  which  suggest  that  Craig-y- 
Dinas  is  really  a  bewitched  place,  is  the  fashion  in 
which  the  two  streams,  Mellte  and  Sychnant,  have 
cut  their  way  on  each  side  of  it,  with  their  two 
distinct  glens  or  cwms,  steep  and  deep,  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  one  another  and  yet  divided  by 
this  strange  buttress  of  limestone.  Moreover,  the 
Sychnant,  as  its  name  of  Dry-brook  tells,  dispenses 
with  water  at  the  latter  part  of  its  career  under 
the  south-east  side  of  Craig-y-Dinas,  or  commonly 
so  buries  it  out  of  sight  that  it  does  not  count. 


THE  VALE   OF  NEATH  155 

A  Cyclopean  barrier  of  rocks,  about  three  hundred 
yards  from  the  lower  end,  shuts  off  the  cwm  from 
convenient  exploration.  The  wildness  of  the  Mellte 
is  rather  spoilt  by  the  powder-mills,  but  indeed 
the  picturesqueness  of  the  place  is  mixed  with 
something  evil  and  fantastic  to  a  degree.  What 
we  find  at  Craig-y-Dinas  we  find  all  through  this 
land  of  unaccountable  glens  and  innumerable 
waterfalls. 

One  more  Craig-y-Dinas  tradition,  and  we  are 
done  with  it.  This  story  tells  that  the  mysterious 
Welsh  faery-damsel,  Blodeu-wedd  (or  Flower- 
Aspect),  who  was  made  out  of  flowers  and  was 
converted  into  an  owl,  according  to  one  of  the 
Mabinogion,  was  really  entombed  under  Craig-y- 
Dinas  :  that  is,  if  Meirchion's  daughter  was  the 
same  as  Blodeu-wedd,  who  had  a  fashioner,  but 
no  human  father  in  the  ordinary  sense. 

A  modern  rhymer  of  old  Welsh  romances  has 
put  the  wild  forest  legend  of  Flower-Aspect,  or 
Blodeu-wedd,  into  a  mysterious  lyric: — 

THE   FLOWER   MAIDEN. 

"They  could  not  find  a  mortal  wife, 
And  made  him  one  of  flowers  : 
Her  eyes  were  made  of  violets, 

Wet  with  their  morning  showers. 

They  took  the  blossom  of  the  Oak, 

The  blossom  of  the  broom, 
The  blossom  of  the  meadow-sweet, 

To  be  her  body's  bloom. 

But  they  forgot  from  Mother  Earth 

To  beg  the  kindling  coal  : 
They  made  for  him  a  wife  of  flowers 
But  they  forgot  the  soul," 


156  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

The  sound  of  falling  waters  is  heard,  resounding 
in  many  pitches  and  rough  tones,  from  Craig-y- 
Dinas ;  for  there  are  certain  small  falls  on  the 
Sychnant  within  easy  hail.  The  Sychnant  swiftly 
descends  from  very  high  ground ;  and  a  track  may 
be  found  from  the  upper  end  of  Craig-y-Dinas, 
which  passes  a  hut  and  then  rapidly  ascends  the 
hill  of  a  thousand  feet  off  that  looks  towards 
Hirwain,  some  five  miles  away,  and  the  mineral 
highlands  that  lie  about  it. 

The  Sychnant  exhausted,  you  can,  by  passing 
to  the  left  side  of  the  tool-cabin,  at  the  upper  side 
of  Craig-y-Dinas,  follow  a  path  along  and  well 
above  the  east  bank  of  the  Mellte,  until  you 
reach,  after  half  an  hour's  going,  the  Hepste 
stream,  which  flows  from  the  Hirwain  highlands 
into  the  Mellte.  On  the  Hepste,  at  some  five 
hundred  or  six  hundred  yards  above  the  juncture 
of  the  streams,  are  two  falls — the  Lower  and 
Upper  Cilhepste  Falls.  The  path  you  are  following 
will  bring  you  to  the  bank  of  the  Hepste,  in  the 
midst  of  the  Lower  Falls,  which  descend  in  three 
cascades.  This,  as  we  come  nearer,  is,  after  a 
heavy  rain,  a  very  definite  Niagaraean  roar, 
angry  and  profound.  The  fall  is  one  of  the 
finest  of  this  series.  It  is  peculiarly  set,  so  as 
to  afford  usually  a  safe  and  dry  passage  right 
beneath  the  water.  The  sheer  fall  of  the  stream 
is  over  what  would  be  a  very  respectable  house- 
side — to  be  accurate,  fifty-three  feet.  The  foot- 
ing under  its  water  is,  except  at  one  point, 
owing  to  some  dislodged  stone,  quite  safe,  so 
that  even  timorous  people  need  not  be  afraid. 
Having  crossed  beneath  the  Cilhepste  Fall,  you 
need  not  return,  but  can  follow  the  path  that 
bears  off  towards  the  Mellte,  skirting  the  under- 


THE  VALE   OF  NEATH  157 

woods,  above  the  Hepste,  with  a  view  to  the 
Clun-Gwyn  Falls,  passing  again  the  Lower  Hepste 
cascades  on  the  way;  and  when  one  of  them  is 
below  and  one  above,  striking  off  up  the  Mellte, 
and  then  down  through  the  trees  of  the  glen. 

The  lowest,  and  finest,  of  the  Clun  -  Gwyn 
Falls  is  reached  in  some  five  minutes  from  this 
point,  and  not  far  above  the  glen  pool.  This 
waterfall,  although  so  differently  placed  from  the 
Cilhepste,  and  not  so  abrupt  and  not  nearly  so 
high,  is  by  connoisseurs  thought  incomparably 
finer.  The  pool  below  is  haunted  by  a  fabulous 
and  monstrous  fish,  that  cannot  be  caught,  and 
that  has  the  uncanny  peculiarity  of  appropriating 
all  the  hooks  he  swallows.  Keeping  up  stream, 
and  humouring  the  left  bank,  you  are  brought  in 
a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  second  of  the  Clun- 
Gwyn  Falls  (it  is  easy,  by  the  way,  to  confuse 
what  appear  to  be  short  cuts  across  from  the 
Hepste).  This  second,  or  middle,  of  the  Falls  is 
more  dispersed ;  but  its  rocks  are  strikingly  water- 
cut  and  strangely  fringed  with  trees  and  shrubs. 
In  late  autumn  the  colours  of  the  trees  become 
softened  here  to  very  unusual  hues ;  and  the 
autumn  rains  easily  convert  the  Mellte  into  a 
really  imposing  stream,  and  make  these  falls  even 
look  majestic. 

The  upper  Clun-Gwyn  Fall  is  only  to  be  ap- 
proached by  some  lively  skirmishing,  now  on  the 
east  bank,  now  on  the  west,  taking  advantage  of 
the  latter  bank,  and  the  track  skirting  the  fringe 
of  trees  above  it,  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  upper 
of  two  brooks  that  enter  the  Mellte  by  the  east 
bank.  A  footbridge  crosses  the  Mellte  at  the 
turn  above,  and  then  the  path  is  easy  to  Hendre 
Farm  whence  a  road  runs  to  Cwm  Forth  Farm. 


158  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

There  a  guide  may  be  had  to  take  you  to 
the  famous  river  cavern,  Porth-yr-Ogof  (Gate  of 
the  Cave).  From  Cwm  Forth  it  is  quite  worth 
while  to  proceed  on  to  the  hamlet  of  Ystrad 
Fellte,  after  exploring  the  cave,  which  is  certainly 
one  of  the  nine  wonders  of  Breconshire.*  A  couple 
of  candles  or  a  good  lantern  and  a  box  of  blue 
and  red  flares  ought  to  form  part  of  your  equip- 
ment in  exploring  the  cave.  Otherwise  not  half 
its  mysteries  and  secret  recesses  can  be  discovered, 
and  the  Mellte,  coming  out  of  the  darkness  with 
much  rushing  and  grumbling,  is  no  safe  guide. 
The  best  way  down  into  the  mouth  is  by  a  track 
from  the  upper  side.  The  appearance  of  the  dry 
river-bed  is  uncanny,  and  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
with  a  huge  lintel  that  seems  intended  for  a  vast 
entrance  whose  lower  half  has  been  filled  up, 
the  issuing  stream,  and  the  general  strangeness 
of  the  surroundings,  all  speak  of  a  kind  of  geolo- 
gical necromancy.  It  is  many  years  ago  now 
since  the  last  legend  was  added.  A  strange  man 
made  his  way  to  the  cave,  with  a  gun — led  by 
what  sense  of  the  sombre  spirit  of  the  place  one 
can  only  conjecture  grimly — and  there  shot  him- 
self. His  body  was  found  eventually  by  a  passing 
shepherd's  collie-dog,  and  now  lies  in  an  unknown 
grave,  I  believe,  in  Ystrad  Fellte  churchyard. 

Once  the  strange  portal  is  entered,  although 
there  is  such  ample  space,  the  uneven  pitch  of 
the  rocks  and  the  irregularities  natural  to  the 
mining  of  such  an  indefatigable  mole  of  a  river, 
make  the  exploration  difficult.  Now  one  is  on  a 

*  The  boundary-line  of  the  two  counties,  Brecon  and 
Glamorgan,  was  passed  at  Pont  Neath  Vaughan,  and  is 
defined  westward  by  the  course  of  the  Nedd  and  Perddyn, 
and  eastward  by  the  course  of  the  Sychnant. 


THE  VALE  OF  NEATH  159 

rock,  and  the  head  of  the  Afanc  appears,  and 
now,  unless  one  is  careful,  one  is  in  danger  of 
slipping  over  a  wet  stone  into  Peredur's  pool.  The 
roof  is  hung  with  lime  pendants  and  other  stalac- 
titic  fantasies.  On  one  side  of  the  cave  a  side- 
passage  runs  off,  and  straitens  itself  in  the  stone. 
The  whole  effect  of  the  interior  is  uncanny  and 
unreal ;  and,  unless  one  has  been  accustomed  to  the 
interior  of  lead-  and  iron-mines,  utterly  bewildering. 
The  further  subterranean  channel  of  the  river  be- 
tween the  cave,  where  it  makes  its  disappearance, 
and  its  reappearing  point  below,  is  250  yards  in  all. 
It  is  hard  to  credit  lolo's  story  of  the  ten-year-old 
boy  who  once  scrambled  right  through  the  under- 
ground tunnel.  But  possibly  the  channel  at  its 
exit  is  more  choked  now  than  used  to  be  the  case 
in  lolo's  day. 

From  Ystrad  Fellte  the  turnpike  leads  across  the 
uplands,  to  Pont-Felin-Fach  on  the  Nedd  River,  here 
known  in  English  as  the  Little  Neath,  and  the 
Upper  and  Lower  Nedd  Falls.  There  you  are 
within  easy  range  of  the  Perddyn ;  and  the  Perddyn 
has  two  falls,  which  are  among  the  best  in  the 
district,  including  the  Scwd  Gwladys,  or  Lady's 
Fall.  Its  aspect  is  a  little  like  that  of  the  Cilhepste 
Falls,  with  a  jutting  ledge,  and  a  space  behind  the 
water,  sufficient  only  in  very  dry  seasons,  however, 
to  carry  you  to  the  other  side,  which  there  is  no 
object  in  reaching.  It  is  a  considerable  pull  up 
from  this  fall  to  Scwd  Einion  Gam,  which  is  the 
loftiest  of  all  the  Vale  of  Neath  falls,  and  quite  one 
of  the  finest;  its  setting  in  the  rocks  and  trees 
is  most  wildly  effective. 

This  may  seem  a  long  diversion  of  the  coast 
itinerary  But  to  know  a  coast,  you  must  know 
the  streams  too  that  form  its  abers  and  that  have 


160  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

joined  forces  with  the  sea  to  carve  it  out.  You 
watch  with  a  sense  of  quickened  acquaintance  the 
river  Nedd  flow  out  and  meet  the  tide,  when  you 
return  from  the  two  days'  adventure  of  the  valley 
of  waterfalls. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SWANSEA  AND  SWANSEA  BAY — ANN  KEMBLE — THE 
AUTHOR  OF  "TWM  SHON  CATTI " — LANDOR 

SWANSEA  BAY,  the  bay  of  Walter  Savage  Lander's 
delight,  is  still  one  of  the  fairest  harbours  you 
can  wish  to  see.  It  describes  a  divine  curve,  whose 
beauty  not  all  the  copper-smoke  on  its  shores  can 
destroy.  More  than  half  a  lifetime  ago  the  pre- 
sent chronicler  spent  an  autumn  and  winter  at 
Swansea  ;  and  the  place  still  carries  traces  of  a 
child's  fanciful  town  about  it  with  exaggerated 
streets  and  houses.  There  is  something,  too,  in 
its  air,  in  which  copper-smoke,  salt-water  and  tar 
seem  blended  with  the  usual  smells  of  commerce — 
a  smack  of  antiquity  that  threatens  to  betray  a 
secret  at  every  turn.  Swansea,  indeed,  is  indi- 
vidual, as  great  towns  go — bless  its  ugly  face  and 
dirty  splendour !  It  has  thrust  its  castle  into  a 
backyard — a  man  may  walk  through  the  town 
to-day  without  seeing  the  tower  above  the  Post 
Office.  It  has  not  found  itself  architecturally. 
The  only  really  modern  sign  of  man's  handiwork  is 
to  be  seen  at  the  great  docks,  at  which  the  last 
buttresses  of  the  Castle  stare  down  in  wonder.  Its 
churches,  railway  stations,  public  buildings,  houses 
and  shops,  are  quite  unworthy  of  its  immense 
wealth.  Yet  it  was  on  the  programme  a  century 

11  161 


162  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

ago  that  Swansea  would  be  the  civic  queen,  the 
London,  of  South  Wales.  As  it  is,  she  is  content, 
it  seems,  to  be  the  Cinderella :  rather  glorying  than 
otherwise  in  her  cinders. 

Swansea  is  in  Welsh  "  Abertawe,"  which  is  more 
patent  than  the  English  name,  since  it  places  the 
town  at  the  mouth  or  aber  of  the  Tawe  River.  The 
name  Swansea  may  come  from  Sweyn,  sea-pirate 
and  "  Black  Pagan,"  a  Danish  invader  of  the  early 
centuries,  who  went  down  in  a  sea-fight  off  Sully. 
The  other  derivation  from  swans,  or  sea-swine 
(porpoises)  we  cannot  away  with.  The  Tawe  stream 
flows  down  from  that  wildly  desolate,  lonely  lake 
on  the  east  side  of  the  Van  mountain,  Llyn-y-fan- 
fawr,  and  takes  a  south-westerly  course  through 
the  lower  slopes  until  it  pours  itself  out  into 
Swansea  Bay,  and  makes  a  port  of  Swansea  town. 

If  you  enter  the  town  via  Landore,  you  accom- 
pany the  river  for  the  last  and  most  dismal  part  of 
its  course.  Emerging  then  from  the  Great  Western 
station,  you  can  turn  down  High  Street,  following 
the  trams ;  at  its  foot  Castle  Street  continues 
the  thoroughfare,  suddenly  contracted  at  this 
point.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  next  narrow 
stretch  of  street  you  reach  the  old  centre  of  the 
town,  whose  heart  and  head  were  its  Castle  and 
Castellan.  Two  different  sets  of  Post  Office  build- 
ings have  eaten  up  part  of  the  Castle  site,  but 
some  of  the  old  walls  may  be  seen  behind  it.  A 
small  second-hand  book-shop  (where  you  can  pick 
up  rare  Welsh  books),  near  the  gates  of  a  wheel- 
wright's yard,  may  help  to  direct  you  to  the  north 
side  of  the  ruin.  Thence  the  Castle  extended  for 
a  space  of  seventy  yards  originally,  northward 
behind  what  is  now  Worcester  Place,  and  south- 
ward along  Castle  Square,  commanding,  because  of 


SWANSEA  AND  SWANSEA  BAY       163 

its  position  above  the  riverside,  the  whole  waterway 
and  network  of  the  great  North  Dock. 

One  afternoon  David  and  I  turned  in  at  the 
lower  entrance  of  the  Castle  yard,  and  were  gazing 
at  the  walls  and  wondering  how  to  get  into  the 
Tower,  when  an  ancient  dame  appeared  on  the 
scene.  We  followed  her  up  an  outer  flight  of 
steps,  but  she  did  not  offer  much  encouragement 
to  explorers. 

"  The  stairs,"  she  explained  to  us,  "  were  thick  to 
your  ankles  with  dirt  and  dust,  and  some  of  the 
steps  were  gone  so  bad  you  couldn't  go  up  to  the 
top.  The  Duke  of  Bewfort  [Beaufort]  couldn't 
bear  having  the  old  place  touched — 'don't  ye  so 
much  as  lay  a  finger  on  it,'  he  said." 

A  most  unseemly  sort  of  midden  lay  below,  full 
of  ashes  and  refuse.  David  asked  her  if  the  Duke 
would  not  have  that  touched  either  ? 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  confidential  change  of 
tone ;  "  he  will  not  have  the  old  place  touched, 
His  man  once  went  to  lime  that  wall,  and  the  Duke 
was  very  vexed  at  his  doing  it :  '  Never  you  do  such 
a  thing  again  ! '  No,  he  will  not  have  a  finger  lifted 
in  the  old  place.  Some  say  he  wants  to  come  and 
live  in  it  himself ! " 

I  did  not  like  to  observe  that  there  was  a  mean 
between  whitewashing  the  old  walls  and  keeping 
the  dirt  out ;  for  we  wished  to  conciliate  her,  and 
prove  we  did  not  mind  the  dust  on  the  Tower  stair. 
Finally,  grumbling  some  last  objections,  she  went 
for  a  key,  and  let  us  into  a  match-boarded  room 
hung  from  end  to  end  with  bits,  bridles,  saddles, 
and  other  trappings  of  the  1st  Glamorgan  Terri- 
torials. This  helped  to  bring  back  something  of 
the  military  illusion  of  the  fortress.  A  small  door, 
and  a  dark  winding  stair  within  it,  led  on  from  this 


164  THE   SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

chamber ;  and  our  guide  supplied  a  long  wax 
taper  to  light  us  up — a  very  necessary  weapon,  as 
it  proved.  She  adjured  us  to  be  sure  and  look 
through  a  hole  at  a  stage  half-way  up,  when  we 
heard  a  noise  like  a  jackdaw,  to  see  the  mighty 
works  of  the  old  town  clock.  Evidently  for  her 
this  was  the  wonder  of  the  Castle.  We  heard  the 
clock,  just  as  she  had  said,  and  we  gazed  eagerly 
through  the  crevice  into  the  small  chamber  whence 
the  noise  came,  but  saw  no  such  spectre  or  double 
of  a  long-imprisoned  clock-maker  as  the  noise 
seemed  to  promise.  Some  further  stumbling  rounds 
of  the  dark  staircase,  and  we  passed  a  door  and 
parapet ;  and  a  last  dark  flight  and  ladder  led  out 
into  a  kind  of  crow's  nest  with  a  dismantled  rusty 
crown-piece  filling  nearly  the  whole  of  it.  From 
this  perch  the  sudden  spectacle  of  the  wealthy  and 
dirty  capital  of  Glamorganshire  was  to  be  seen  in 
one  confusing  orbit  in  the  afternoon  sun. 

The  far-spread  enginery  and  long  lines  of  the 
docks  and  great  ships  came  first ;  then  part  of  a 
street,  a  bit  of  timber-yard,  the  roof  of  a  new 
hotel,  a  pretentious  draper's  palace,  a  bleak  hill 
with  a  row  of  poor  houses  half-way  up  it,  a  corner 
of  a  slum,  and  many  belching  chimneys,  all  pitched 
together  in  an  extraordinarily  affecting  disorder, 
so  that  one  wished  for  a  Meryon's  genius  and 
etching-needle  to  record  it.  Beyond  all  lay  the 
curved  bay,  of  a  bright  azure  in  the  sun :  like  an 
angel  in  a  blue  robe  asleep  on  the  brink  of  a  cinder- 
heap.  All  the  materials  for  a  great  city  were  here, 
but  in  what  a  state  of  neglect  and  chaos  ! 
***** 

Swansea  Castle,  since  the  days  of  Beauchamp  de 
Newburgh,  when  it  was  built,  has  kept  but  a 
meagre  account  of  its  sieges  and  sallies.  The 


SWANSEA  AND  SWANSEA  BAY        165 

need  for  such  a  fortress  arose  when  the  Normans 
decided  to  hold  Gower,  and  saw  that  a  few  links 
more  must  be  added  in  the  district  to  the  lengthen- 
ing chain  of  castles.  Swansea  Castle  was  on  the 
whole  lucky  in  the  Welsh  sieges  that  followed. 
In  1113  Griffith  ap  Rhys,  and  in  1192  Rhys  ap 
Griffith,  invested  it :  in  both  sieges  Welsh  quarrels 
saved  it.  Gower  was  raided  from  end  to  end, 
during  more  than  one  of  the  assaults  on  Swansea 
Castle ;  Swansea  town  was  ransacked  and  burnt 
more  than  once  when  the  Castle  escaped. 

One  of  the  first  things  to  strike  the  invader  of 
the  Castle  to-day  is  the  likeness  of  the  little 
parapet  arches  to  those  of  the  Bishop's  Palace 
ruins  at  St.  David's.  They  were  built,  in  fact,  by  the 
same  builder,  Bishop  Gower,  about  the  year  1342. 
Previously  to  that  the  Castle  had  had  some  hard 
knocks ;  and  its  most  famous  captain,  William  de 
Braos,  contriving  to  offend  the  King,  was  obliged 
to  leave  it  and  fly  to  France,  where,  tradition  says, 
he  died.  When  his  kinsman,  Giles,  Bishop  of  Here- 
ford, held  it,  that  is  in  1215,  Llewelyn  the  Great 
assailed  it  in  force,  and  appears  to  have  over- 
thrown it  with  many  of  its  dependent  castles  in 
the  Gower  castelry.  "  In  Swansea,"  sang  Llywarch 
ab  Llewelyn — 

' '  In  Swansea,  that  peaceless  place, 
The  castle-walls  are  rent ; 
A  peace,  like  death,  prevails. 

In  Swansea,  that  strong-walled  fort, 
The  Key  of  England,  the  Saxon  is  slain  ; 
All  the  women  are  widows  I " 

The  Castle  changed  owners  many  times,  the 
De  Braos  family  often  appearing  as  its  lords.  But 


166  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

in  1324-1325  it  passed  into  the  De  Spencers'  hands  ; 
and  then  for  a  last  time,  and  for  only  a  short  time, 
to  the  heirs  of  the  De  Braos'  house,  the  De  Mow- 
brays.  Owain  Glyndwr  was  the  only  Welshman 
who  assailed  it  with  any  success  after  its,rebuilding 
by  Bishop  Gower ;  but  he  did  not  seriously  damage 
the  actual  structure.  In  1470  we  find  a  charter 
allotting  the  Castle  (with  Oystermouth  and  Kilve) 
to  William  Herbert,  Earl  of  Pembroke ;  and  an 
heiress  of  that  stock  carried  it  then  over  to  the 
Beaufort  family,  its  present  owners.  During  the 
Civil  War  it  saw  some  fighting  again,  and  for  the 
last  time.  A  local  historian  can  tell  us  the  tale : — 

"There  is  a  libellous  tradition  that  it  was  taken  and 
retaken  three  times  within  the  same  day,  and  no  blow  struck  ! 
but  this  is  only  a  malicious  invention.  At  some  time  in  its 
history  there  must  have  been  hard  fighting  and  slaughter 
here,  for  when  the  foundations  of  the  Post  Office  were  dug 
in  the  Castle  precincts,  no  less  than  fifteen  skeletons  were 
found  in  a  very  small  area.  Walter  Thomas  was  the  Governor 
in  the  King's  interest,  and  Colonel  Philip  Jones  succeeded  to 
the  command  of  the  garrison  on  behalf  of  the  Parliament, 
when  Oliver  Cromwell  was  'Lorde  of  this  towne.'  On  the 
3rd  March,  1647,  it  was  ordered  by  Parliament  '  that  Swanzey 
Castle  be  dis-garrisoned,  and  the  works  slighted.'  Later  on, 
the  fortress,  probably  then  much  dismantled,  suffered  the 
indignity  of  being  let  to  Matthew  Davis,  a  local  Roundhead, 
for  99  years,  at  £2  per  annum." 

There  the  record  may  end. 

Leaving  the  Castle,  and  continuing  your  way 
then  to  the  lower  town,  you  can  go  down  Wind 
Street  to  gain  the  older  shipping  purlieus.  There, 
at  the  point  where  the  railway  bridge  and  its 
iron  girders  cross  the  street,  groups  of  sailors 
standing  about  remind  you  how  large  a  part 
the  seafaring  life  plays  at  Swansea. 


SWANSEA  AND  SWANSEA  BAY       167 

One  morning,  when  we  had  missed  a  train  at 
the  London  and  North-Western  station,  David 
beguiled  me  into  a  tour  of  the  older  docks.  There 
he  contrived  to  strike  up  acquaintance  first  with 
a  ship-painter  who  was  painting  the  footbridge 
over  the  dock-gates,  and  then  with  a  friendly  "  hen 
wraig,"  clad  in  the  true  Glamorgan  style — double 
gown  and  petticoat,  and  thick  flat-straw  hat  with 
frilled  border,  who  sold  black  lavar-bread  and 
cockles  on  the  quayside.  He  boarded  next  a 
French  barque,  the  Demoiselle  of  Bordeaux,  and 
discoursed  queer  French  to  the  captain. 

To  all  which  the  captain  smiled  and  responded 
hi  easy-going  English,  "Take  a  look  over  her, 
my  boy,  and  welcome,  but  excuse  me,  as  1  have 
to  run  up  town ! " 

In  that  circuit  of  a  single  pool,  the  smaller  of 
the  Swansea  docks,  we  saw,  as  if  they  had  been 
got  for  a  museum,  nearly  every  kind  of  vessel 
that  has  sailed  water  from  the  day  of  Nelson 
onward.  Coasting  vessels  like  the  Pierre  of  Bor- 
deaux, the  Jean  of  Roscoff,  the  Polly  and  the  Lucy 
Smith,  and  great  steam-vessels  like  the  Duke  of 
Wellington.  Around  us  the  warehouses  and 
wharves  gave  out  mixed  odours  of  spice  and 
grain,  and  the  water  provided  others,  not  easy 
to  analyse,  not  over  sweet,  yet  remarkably  smack- 
ing of  the  salt  sea. 

It  surprises  one  to  turn  suddenly  amid  these 
shipping  places  and  to  spy  the  Royal  Institution, 
whose  colonnade,  seen  in  this  unexpected  seafarer's 
place,  gives  a  classic  air  to  the  street  that  leads 
on  to  the  South  Dock. 

Entering  the  place,  we  found  on  the  staircase 
some  interesting  old  pictures,  a  portrait  of  Sir 
Hans  Sloane  (of  Sloane  Museum  fame),  one  or 


168  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

two  portraits  of  gentlemen  in  armour  or  in  scarlet, 
a  Dutch  classic  piece  by  Jordans,  and  many  prints 
and    documents   tinged   with    Swansea  antiquity. 
Among  these  was  to  be  discovered  the   veritable 
marriage    deed   or    contract  of    affiance   between 
Edward    II.,   then   Prince   of    Wales,   and   Isabel, 
daughter  of  Philip  IV.  of  France,  dated  May  20, 
1303.     We  know  how  the  story  of  these  two  ill- 
mated    people   ended,   and   the   disaster   that  the 
weakness     of    the    one,     and    the     over-weening 
strength  and   ambition    of    the    other,  "the   she- 
wolf  of  France,"  helped  to  invoke.     It  was,  in  fact, 
due   to   its  tragic   ending   that   this   document  in 
the   case   came   to   be  left  at   Swansea.     Edward, 
flying  to  Wales  from  his  fate,  waited  at  Swansea, 
hoping,  as  one  story  tells,  to  get  a  vessel  and  cross 
to  France.     But  either  no  vessel  was  forthcoming, 
or  Swansea  grew  too  hot  for  safety,  and  Edward 
turned   back    in   haste   to   Neath,   leaving   behind 
him  all    the    impedimenta    he    could    not    safely 
carry  away.     Long  afterwards  a   small  oak  chest 
containing  this  and  other  documents  was  handed 
over  to   a   Swansea  doctor  by  some  poor  people 
who   could   not   pay  his   doctor's   fees.      Probably 
it  had  been  lying  in  the  garret  or  cellar  of  one 
of   the  queer   tenements   that  filled  the  Swansea 
slums  at  the  time  this  transaction  took  place. 

In  the  cases  upstairs  will  be  found  stones  and 
fossils  that  were  privy  to  the  making  of  the 
coal  measures  and  of  the  rocks  that  give  the 
Glamorganshire  scenery  its  individuality.  Here, 
too,  are  the  broken  relics  of  the  Bone  Cave,  Bacon 
Hole,  Paviland,  and  others  in  Gower,  which  ought 
to  be  well  scrutinised  before  you  go  thither. 
Among  the  cave-creatures  whose  bones  are  to 
be  seen  are  the  rhinoceros,  elephant,  bear,  wolf, 


SWANSEA  AND  SWANSEA  BAY       169 

hyena,  badger,  polecat,  red  deer,  and  buffalo. 
The  "Red  Lady  of  Paviland"  may  have  seen 
these  creatures  in  the  flesh  ;  but  she  keeps  her 
own  counsel.  In  another  room  some  of  the 
strange  fish  that  have  swum  into  Swansea  Bay 
may  be  found  surviving  their  day — whale,  sea- 
devil,  sun-fish,  shark  !  And  in  another  room  are 
coins,  traders'  tokens,  old  seals,  found  in  the 
district.  Here,  dryly  observes  the  best  of  familiar 
historians,  "  here  also  are  mummies,  the  key  of 
Oystermouth  Castle,  and  a  cast  of  the  head  of 
Ann  of  Swansea." 

Poor  Ann  of  Swansea !  She  still  haunts  the 
fancy  of  the  sentimental  tourist  as  he  wanders 
through  Swansea  to-day  and  catches  sight  of 
the  bay,  remembering  her  lament : — 

"The  restless  waves  that  lave  the  shore, 
Joining  the  tide's  tumultuous  roar, 
In  hollow  murmurs  seem  to  say  : 
'  Peace  is  not  found  in  Swansea  Bay.' " 

Ann  deserves  her  niche  in  the  gallery  because 
she  was  one  of  the  few  modern  romance-writers 
who  have  lived  and  died  in  Wales.  Her  stories 
are  forgotten,  all  save  that  of  her  own  strange 
life.  "  Ann  of  Swansea  "  was  one  of  the  Kembles, 
sister  to  John  Kemble  and  Mrs.  Siddons.  After 
an  unfortunate  marriage  to  a  scamp  (who  deceived 
her,  being  married  already)  she  was  only  rescued 
from  the  extreme  of  poverty  by  her  richer  rela- 
tions. Then,  in  1792,  she  married  a  Mr.  Hatton, 
and  went  with  him  to  New  York.  Returning  to 
England,  after  an  absence  of  eight  years,  they 
settled  in  Swansea,  and  kept  for  five  years  the 
"  Bathing  House,"  an  hotel  and  house  of  assembly. 


170  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

This  did  not  succeed.  On  the  death  of  Mr.  Hatton, 
in  1806,  his  wife  went  to  Kidwelly,  and,  notwith- 
standing her  lameness,  kept  a  school  for  dancing 
and  deportment.  In  1809  she  writes  again  from 
Swansea,  where  she  continued  to  reside,  at  No.,  15, 
Park  Street,  on  an  income  of  £90  a  year,  allowed 
by  her  relatives  until  her  death  in  1838.  She  lies 
buried  in  the  St.  Mary's  New  Cemetery,  behind  St. 
John's  Church,  but  no  one  knows  the  precise  spot. 
She  wrote  three  volumes  of  poems  and  some 
fifteen  or  sixteen  novels,  one  of  which,  The 
Chronicles  of  an  Illustrious  House,  created  a 
ferment  in  Swansea  because  of  its  local  allusions. 
A  photograph  from  a  picture  of  Ann  of  Swansea 
is  in  the  Deffett-Francis  Collection  in  the  Art 
Gallery. 

Another  more  original  tale-teller  than  Ann 
of  Swansea  was  that  eccentric  creature,  I.  J. 
Llewelyn  Prichard,  the  author  of  Twm  Shon 
Catti,  who  wrote,  too,  in  his  Heroines  of  Welsh 
History  a  brief  biography  of  Maud  de  Haia, 
Moll  Walbe,  of  Hay  Castle  and  Swansea  Castle. 
Prichard  spent  the  latter  part  of  his  life  at 
Swansea,  not  very  happily,  I  fear.  Local  gossip 
has  it  that  he  was  derided  by  little  boys  and  the 
vulgar  "  on  account  of  his  artificial  nose,  which 
was  kept  in  its  place  by  his  spectacles.  He  fell 
asleep  one  day  over  his  books  in  his  poor  lodging 
at  Thomas  Street,  and  his  death  was  accelerated 
by  the  burns  he  got  from  his  clothes  and  papers 
taking  fire."  Besides  Twm  Shon  Catti  he 
wrote  much  on  Welsh  subjects,  and  everything 
he  wrote  was  written  with  a  certain  queer  force 
and  whimsicality,  shown  alike  in  his  way  of 
seeing  things  and  in  his  way  of  putting  them. 

Twm    Shon    Catti    he    described    as    "the   first 


SWANSEA  AND   SWANSEA  BAY       171 

attempted  thing  that  could  bear  the  title  of  a 
Welsh  novel."  He  was  led  to  attempt  it  by  the 
success  of  an  absurd  play  in  London,  played  at 
the  Coburg  Theatre,  called — 

TWM  JOHN  OATTI ; 
OB,  "THE  WELCH  ROB  ROY." 

"This  second  title,"  he  says,  "which  confounded 
the  poor  Cambrians,  was  a  grand  expedient  of  the 
dramatist  to  excite  the  attention  of  the  Londoners, 
who  naturally  associated  it  with  the  hero  of  the 
celebrated  Scotch  novel ;  the  bait  was  immediately 
swallowed.  Great  was  the  surprise  of  the  sons 
of  the  Cymry  to  find  their  practical  joker,  Twm 
Shon  Catti,  elevated  to  the  degree  of  a  high- 
hearted injured  chieftain,  uttering  heroic  speeches 
and  ultimately  dying  for  his  Ellen  a  hero's  death." 

The  play  was  based  directly  on  a  tale  in  a  queer, 
half-humorous  volume  called  The  Inn-Keeper's 
Album,  and  published  in  1823.  "  Twm  John 
Catty :  the  Welch  Rob  Roy  "  is  much  the  longest 
and  absurdest  story  in  the  book,  written  in  mock- 
heroic  prose  and  in  defiance  of  time  and  history. 
The  characters  are  of  all  ages  :  "  Owen  Glendower  " 
appears  by  the  side  of  "  Twm  John."  Twm  himself, 
invincible  by  men,  has  to  be  got  rid  of  by  light- 
ning. Prichard's  Welsh  wit  was  revolted  by  this 
stage-travesty  of  Twm,  converted  into  a  paste- 
board hero.  Fielding,  teased  by  the  sentimental 
art  of  Richardson's  Pamela,  turned  to  Joseph 
Andrews,  and  this  anti-romancer  wrote  his 
humorous  novel  of  Twm  Shon  Catti  in  protest 
against  a  high-falutin  play. 

Prichard  wrote  a  book  of  poems,  too,  which  was 
published  by  Leigh  Hunt  and  his  brother  John  in 


172  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

1824.  It  is  nothing  like  so  original  as  his  tale- 
writing  ;  but  the  longest  poem,  "  The  Land  Beneath 
the  Sea,"  has  a  fine  subject,  the  drowning  of  the 
"  Cantref-y-Gwaelod "  or  Bottom  Hundred,  and 
some  fine  passages.  One  of  these  bears  quoting 
in  the  account  of  the  drowning  of  the  "  Cantref  "  ; 
but  the  absurd  two  lines  that  stick  in  the  ear 
persistently,  out  of  Prichard's  Welsh  Minstrelsy, 
are  printed  on  the  title-page : — 

Oh,  list  to  the  minstrel  who  sweeps  the  Welsh  telyn, 
Hear,  hear  ye  the  harpings  of  Jeffery  Llewelyn  ! " 

Prichard  seems  to  have  at  one  time  gone  touring 
in  South  Wales  with  some  theatrical  "  fit-up  "  com- 
panies ;  and  one  cannot  help  wondering  if  he  in  his 
function  of  stage-manager  also  produced  a  version 
of  "  Twm  Shon  Catti."  His  own  history,  could  one 
but  recover  it,  would  be  as  entertaining  as  any- 
thing he  invented.  The  date  of  his  death  is  given 
by  Asaph  in  the  Dictionary  of  Eminent  Welshmen 
as  1874  ;  but  the  third  edition  of  Twm  Shon 
Catti,  1871,  mentions  his  death  at  about  a  year's 
remove. 

Walter  Savage  Landor  spent  three  of  the  most 
precious  years  of  his  life  between  Swansea  and 
Tenby.  His  first  book  of  poems  had  been  published 
in  London  by  T.  Cadell  and  W.  Davies  in  1795,  and 
not  long  afterwards  he  seems  to  have  left  London 
for  South  Wales  on  an  allowance  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a  year.  He  led  for  the  most  part  a 
very  solitary  life  :  "I  lived  chiefly  among  woods 
which  are  now  killed  with  copper  works  and  took 
my  walks  over  sandy  sea-coast  deserts  then  covered 
with  low  roses  and  thousands  of  nameless  flowers 
and  plants  trodden  by  the  naked  feet  of  the  Welsh 


SWANSEA  AND  SWANSEA  BAY       173 

peasantry  and  trackless."  If  this  is  true  of  his 
lonely  days,  it  is  certain  that  he  found  the  friends 
a  young  poet  looks  for.  His  earliest  Welsh  love 
he  called  lone,  which  was  his  poetic  rendering  of 
Jones : — 

' '  lone  was  the  first ;  her  name  is  heard 
Among  the  hills  of  Cambria,  north  and  south, — 
But  there  of  shorter  stature,  like  herself ; 
I  placed  a  comely  vowel  at  its  close 
And  drove  an  ugly  sibilant  away." 

He  found  other  loves  in  Wales,  one  Irish,  whom 
he  called  lanthe,  and  one  English,  Rose  Aylmer — 
whom  he  met  at  Tenby.  It  was  lanthe  who  lent 
him  the  book,  a  history  of  romance  by  Clara 
Reeve,  in  which  he  found  the  Arabian  tale  that 
struck  him  by  its  sombre  antique  splendour.  Gebir 
is  the  same  root  as  Gibraltar,  and  the  story  is 
Spanish  and  Moorish  ;  but  the  colour  in  it,  we  may 
be  inclined  to  decide,  is  partly  Welsh.  He  began 
to  write  it  in  Latin  as  Geberus ;  but  returned  to 
English.  Then,  wandering  in  North  Wales  over 
the  grouse-moors  near  Bala : — 

"Above  the  lakes,  along  the  lea 

Where  gleams  the  darkly  yellow  Dee  ; 
Through  crags,  o'er  cliffs," 

he  bore  his  precious  verses  with  him  and  there 
contrived  to  lose  them.  Some  months  later  they 
found  their  author  again  at  Swansea  : — 

"When  over  Tawey's  sands  they  came 
Brighter  flew  up  my  winter  flame, 
And  each  old  cricket  sang  alert 
With  joy  that  they  had  come  unhurt." 


174  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

He  was  under  the  influence  of  Pindar  and 
Milton,  two  powerful  demons  (as  Blake  would  say), 
when  he  wrote  Gebir,  and  the  style  is  often  Mil- 
tonic,  and  sometimes  great.  No  doubt  it  has 
Landor's  noble  defects  ;  it  is  writ  in  marble,  and 
the  rhythm  is  stiff  and  wants  variety.  But  it  was 
a  great  poem  for  a  boy  of  twenty  to  write.  It  can 
be  best  read,  not  continuously  but  in  episodes,  as 
one  walks  the  shore  of  Swansea  Bay,  where  many 
of  its  close-compacted  pages  were  written. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

PIRATES'  ISLAND — LUNDY — MABISCO'S  CASTLE — 
BENSON'S  CAVE — THE  DEVIL'S  LIMEKILN — 
AMYAS  LEIGH 

ONE  of  the  finest  sea-sensations  on  or  off  the 
British  coast  is  to  be  had  at  Lundy,  which  lies 
within  a  couple  of  hours'  steam  of  Swansea.  I 
first  saw  the  island  in  June,  when  daybreak  begins 
before  3  a.m.,  and  we  did  not  take  the  shortest 
passage,  but  set  sail  early  from  the  Mumbles  Pier 
on  the  Welsh  side  of  the  Channel.  A  fair  westerly 
breeze  cleared  off  the  last  of  the  rain  as  we  started, 
and  the  colours  of  the  Glamorgan  hills  grew  vivid 
all  around  the  superb  curve  of  Swansea  Bay — the 
bay  of  Lander's  delight.  We  did  not  sight  Lundy 
till  just  upon  noon,  for  we  had  a  long  tack  to  make 
in  order  to  call  at  Ilfracombe.  We  were  followed 
all  the  way,  I  remember,  by  a  single  gull  that 
seemed  to  keep  itself  poised  exactly  above  the 
jackstaff  at  the  stern.  Its  only  mate  was  a  canary 
whose  cage  hung  in  the  foc'sle.  That  bird  never 
saw  the  sea,  but  the  gull  must  have  heard  the 
creature's  incessant  indoor  shrilling. 

As  we  neared  Lundy,  a  darker  sky  and  a  threa- 
tening squall  made  the  line  of  cliffs  look  angry  and 
sepian.  Before  we  got  into  closer  quarters  the  sun 
was  out  again,  and  what  had  seemed  all  granite 

175 


Ss 

176  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

changed  into  grassy  steeps  and  fern  slopes,  ending 
in  a  sheer  drop  at  one-third  of  their  height.  But 
round  the  anchorage,  beneath  the  jutting  Lametor 
— a  peninsula  of  precipices — where  now  the  new 
lighthouse  stands,  and  the  opposite  cliffs,  all  was  so 
shut  in  and  so  steep  that  one  was  puzzled  to  know 
how  one  could  get  up  to  the  roof  of  the  island. 
We  put  off  in  a  boat  to  the  beach,  for  there  is  no 
proper  ship-landing,  and  there  we  were  met  by  a 
whiff  of  warm,  perfumed  air,  smelling  of  sun- 
heated  bracken — an  air  that  hardly  belonged  to 
this  pirate-cove,  where  everything  ought  to  reek 
of  tar  and  sea-salt.  From  this  cove  it  is  a  sultry 
climb  in  the  June  sun,  and  one  is  glad  to  leave  the 
wearisome  road  at  the  first  chance  and  zigzag  off 
by  a  hanging  by-path,  which  makes  a  short  cut  to 
Marisco's  Castle.  The  present  lord  of  Lundy,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Heaven,  has  a  much  more  sheltered 
stronghold  in  a  cwm  lying  at  the  first  angle  inland 
above  the  Lametor  Cove. 

As  for  Marisco,  there  is  no  space  here  to  tell  half 
his  story — with  a  suspected  murder  of  his  in  a 
London  street  to  begin  it.  It  is  enough  that, 
flying  from  justice  or  injustice,  he  took  refuge  in 
Lundy.  We  have  already  heard  of  him  at  Margam, 
whose  abbot  got  into  trouble  for  sheltering  him 
and  giving  him  sanctuary  there.  Matthew  Paris 
gives  us  the  best  picture  of  him,  and  relates  how  he 
took  up  his  eyrie  here  in  a  place  inexpugnable,  and 
being  exlex  and  King's  traitor,  proceeded  to  live 
more  pyratico.  William  de  Marisco  had,  indeed, 
seen  a  good  deal  of  castle-building  in  Ireland 
(where  his  father,  Geoffrey,  built  the  castles  of 
Killaloe  and  Ballyleague),  and  the  plain  square 
keep  of  the  Castle — all  that  is  left  of  it — which  he 
built  to  be  his  stronghold  on  Lundy,  still  shows 


PIRATES'  ISLAND  177 

how  good  a  builder  he  could  be.  To-day  you  open 
a  door  in  the  thick  wall  of  the  keep,  to  feel 
bewildered  at  what  it  discovers.  For  the  interior 
is  filled  with  three  or  four  small  whitewashed 
cottages,  which  make  it  into  a  snug  alley,  just  such 
as  you  may  see  in  the  heart  of  some  crowded  city. 
Step  outside  the  door  again,  and  sea  and  sky,  and 
the  lonely  island  hung  between  them,  are  all  your 
world.  Marisco  was  the  right,  rare  spirit  to  har- 
bour here,  and  live  by  the  strong  hand.  He  raided 
the  ships  that  sailed  up  the  Sea  of  Severn,  and  all 
the  neighbouring  coasts  from  Bideford  on  the  one 
side  to  Porthkerry  and  Aberthaw  on  the  other. 
His  name  grew  to  smell  of  fire  and  blood ;  he  was 
so  strong  in  his  island  that  none  dared  attack  him. 
But  then,  the  King  pressing  for  his  capture,  some 
of  the  men  of  Devon  and  Glamorgan  seem  to  have 
combined,  and  by  a  ruse  effected  what  they  could 
not  do  by  open  assault.  Paris  tells  us  of  the 
strategy  ;  but  does  not  say  what  it  was.  Anyhow, 
he  was  taken,  carried  to  London,  and  there  died, 
says  Paris,  not  one  but  many  horrible  deaths — 
a  statement  which  sufficiently  hints  at  the  hideous 
ignominies  his  dead  body  was  made  to  suffer. 

At  his  trial  not  only  his  piracy  on  the  British 
coasts  and  the  high  seas  (which  he  admitted),  and 
the  murder  of  the  Irish  messenger  in  the  London 
streets  (which  he  stoutly  denied),  were  charged 
against  him ;  but  he  was  accused  of  high  treason  of 
a  more  heinous  kind.  Two  or  three  years  before 
this  a  certain  fantastic  esquire  had  found  his  way, 
it  seems,  to  Woodstock,  when  the  Court  was  there, 
and,  feigning  madness,  entered  the  King's  bed- 
chamber by  the  window,  carrying  "a  naked  knife." 
Luckily  one  of  the  Queen's  maids,  Margaret  Biseth 
by  name,  was  a  devote,  and  was  singing  psalms  by 

12 


178  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

the  light  of  a  candle,  and  she  spied  this  unhal- 
lowed fly-by-night,  and  gave  the  alarm.  He  was 
taken,  said  he  was  a  paid  assassin,  and  William 
Marisco  his  master!  There  seems  to  have  been 
nothing  to  prove  his  story  true  ;  but  any  stick  is 
good  enough  to  hit  a  pirate.  So  the  unhappy  lord 
and  king  of  Lundy  was  sentenced  to  death,  and 
many  of  his  desperate  heroes  along  with  him.  He 
was  hung,  says  Paris  sententiously,  on  that  penal 
machine  called  vulgarly  a  gibbet,  and  his  body  dis- 
honoured, disembowelled,  and  quartered.  Last  sign 
of  his  ill-fame,  the  four  quarters  were  sent  to  four 
chief  cities  of  the  realm  as  a  warning.  And  so 
Marisco  the  Pirate  became  a  reproach  in  York  and 
a  ballad-singer's  theme  as  far  away  as  the  Borders. 
He  died — his  chronicler  wrote — not  in  grace,  but 
after  a  manner  which  sounds  like  an  imaginative 
rendering  of  a  doom  after  death,  wrought  by  many 
tortures. 

One  of  the  caves  used  for  hiding  loot — "Benson's 
Cave"  it  is  called — lies  close  below  the  Castle. 
Benson  was  a  much  later  islander  than  Marisco 
— a  humorous  villain  who,  pretending  to  ship 
convicts  oversea,  landed  them  here,  stored  his 
ship's  cargo  in  this  cave,  scuttled  his  ship,  and 
by  this  and  kindred  methods  was  rapidly  amass- 
ing a  huge  fortune,  when  the  authorities  harshly 
interfered.  He  escaped  abroad  then,  and  died, 
no  doubt,  a  happy  death.  But  Bideford,  where 
he  was  born,  makes  little  of  his  memory. 

There  are  other  caves  in  Marisco's  Isle,  just  as 
satisfying  to  one's  appetite  for  pirates  and 
buccaneers.  There  is  the  Devil's  Kitchen,  in 
which  the  arch-enemy  is  sometimes  seen  in  the 
shape  of  a  bull-seal,  who  can,  when  he  leaves  its 
shelter,  throw  stones  like  any  Christian  boy. 


PIRATES'  ISLAND  179 

Best  or  worst  of  all,  there  is  that  uneasy  chasm 
— the  Devil's  Limekiln — over  against  the  jags 
and  crags  at  the  south-west  corner  of  the  island. 
On  a  dry  day  in  a  dry  season  you  had  needs 
take  care  how  you  clamber  down  to  its  verge. 
It  is  as  ill  a  place  as  you  could  wish  to  stare 
into,  and  the  Shutter  Hock  is  its  ominous 
offspring.  It  would,  if  you  could  replace  it  in 
the  Limekiln  cavity  (whence,  they  say,  the  Evil 
One  first  took  it),  exactly  fit  it.  You  need  a 
good  boatman  if  you  would  explore  the  Limekiln 
cliffs  and  the  sea-caves  from  the  sea.  But  for 
a  perfect  cave  adventure  you  must  boat  at  low 
tide  to  the  north  end  of  the  island.  There  lies  a 
superb  seal-cave  with  three  entrances,  into  which 
your  boat  can  carry  you.  It  is  a  magic  cave, 
too  ;  for  its  dimensions  vary  according  to  every 
explorer  and  I  prefer  not  to  give  any. 

If,  however,  being  a  day  excursionist  from 
Ilfracombe,  you  explore  this  end  of  the  island 
and  boat  round  the  "Hen  and  Chickens,"  and 
penetrate  this  triple  cave,  you  will  assuredly  lose 
your  return  steamer  home,  and  so  be  left  at  the 
mercy  of  the  uncanny,  sudden  fogs,  and  the 
tricky,  shifting  winds  that  often  help  to  cut  off 
the  island  from  the  mainland.  It  is  a  simpler 
matter  to  know  the  inhabited  human  end  of 
Lundy,  where  its  squire  and  his  small  tenantry 
are  quartered.  A  country  house  in  a  cwm,  with 
a  garden  below ;  a  new  church  on  the  high 
ground,  clean-walled,  erect,  alert,  like  a  light- 
house or  an  architect's  drawing  ;  three  or  four 
cottages,  and  a  manor  farm,  where  you  can  stay ; 
these  are  almost  all  the  human  furniture.  Bleak 
as  is  the  island,  small  herbs  abound  there,  and 
blossom  long  before  those  of  the  mainland. 


180  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Purple  ling  is  in  bloom  early  in  June,  far  ahead 
of  its  season,  but  the  universal  carpet  of  the  sea- 
links  is  lady's  slipper — an  innocent  herb  for  a 
pirate's  foot  to  tread.  Seapink,  blue  scabious, 
and  many  flowering  lichens  abound,  too ;  and 
above  them,  like  snippets  of  sky,  the  blue 
fritillaries  are  busy,  flying  over  the  slopes,  and 
reminding  us  that  though  Lundy  is  nearer 
Devonshire  than  Glamorganshire,  its  wild  flowers 
and  its  other  creatures  all  take  after  those  on 
the  Welsh  side  of  the  Channel.  Add  to  this 
that  Lundy  has  the  peregrine  falcon,  the  great 
cormorant  and  sea-pie  among  its  birds,  and  that 
on  the  Lame  tor  and  Kat  Island  adjoining  is  one 
of  the  last  refuges  of  the  true  black  rat — the 
brown  rat  having  appropriated  the  main  island. 
Another  race  of  creatures,  more  elusive  than 
the  black  rat,  may  be  believed  in  or  not,  as  you 
like,  in  Lundy.  The  Welsh  name  for  the  place 
was  once  "Ynys  Wair,"  Isle  of  Gwair,  and  in  a 
poem  in  the  Book  of  Taliesin  we  read  of  the 
prison  of  Gwair  in  Caer  Sidi.  The  combination 
of  names  has  led  Sir  John  Rhys  to  the  conjecture 
that  it  was,  or  may  have  been,  in  Lundy  itself 
that  Caer  Sidi  and  "  Carchar  Gwair  "  were  situate. 
Two  mysterious  accounts  of  the  Caer  of  the 
Sidi,  or  faery  fort,  are  to  be  found  in  the  same 
book,  in  the  xivth  and  in  the  xxxth  poem.  The 
former  says  of  it: — 

"Seemly  is  my  seat  in  Caer  Sidi: 
Neither  age  nor  plague  for  him  that  liveth  there  ; 
As  Manawyddan  and  Pryderi  know, 
Three  organs  play  before  the  fire  there : 
And  around  its  corners  the  ocean  currents  go." 

This   brings   up   the  idea  again   of  the   Isle  of 


PIRATES'  ISLAND  181 

Youth,  the  Emain  or  Avalon,  that  haunted  the 
Celtic  imagination  late  and  early.  Had  the 
unlucky  Edward  II.,  when  he  thought  of  flying 
there  in  his  last  hurried  escape  along  the  Welsh 
coast,  heard  in  Gwent  something  of  its  old 
repute  as  a  refuge  for  unhappy  souls  and  out- 
laws— "  the  impregnable  isle "  as  Walsingham 
calls  it? 

He  never  reached  its  haven,  it  is  certain, 
drifting  instead  to  his  fate,  to  be  captured  near 
Llantrisant.  I  saw  none  of  the  Sidh  or  fairy 
folk,  at  Lundy,  nor  did  I  spy  a  seal.  But  I  am 
sorry  to  say  I  did  see  a  seal-gun  on  its  rack  in 
the  island  inn;  for  surely  it  is  a  grand  mistake 
to  shoot  seals  at  all,  now  that  they  are  growing 
scarcer  year  by  year  on  the  British  coasts.  To 
see  a  seal  dive  in  a  sea  gully  on  the  west  coast 
of  Pirate's  Isle  must  be  a  sight  to  remember. 
There  the  boulders,  that  are  dun  or  grey  out  of 
the  water,  look  when  seen  within  its  clear  depth 
of  a  true  mermaid  colour;  they  look  now  like 
mermaids,  now  uncannily  like  so  many  naked, 
drowned  men.  It  is  not  hard  to  understand,  if 
one  sits  (as  Kingsley  made  Amyas  Leigh  sit  in 
his  blindness)  against  the  Gull  Rock,  and  sees 
thence  the  rocks  and  the  weeds  "beneath  the 
merry  blue  sea,"  how  he  came  by  that  episode. 
Indeed,  for  romance  and  lost  galleons  and  buried 
hoards  of  "  pieces-of -eight,"  no  Indian  isle  can 
beat  Lundy — that  rib  of  granite  which  lies  snug 
but  deadly  in  the  Sea  of  Severn ;  a  harbour  of 
refuge  or  a  shipbreaker,  according  to  which  side 
you  take  of  it. 

We  reached  Lundy,  as  I  have  told,  in  a  hot 
sun;  we  left  its  pirate  cove  in  a  cold  rain,  to 
the  first  mutterings  of  a  nasty  wind  in  the 


182  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Lametor  crags.  We  had  not  sailed  above  three 
or  four  furlongs  before  Marisco's  Isle  had  dis- 
appeared ;  and  we  got  back  home  that  evening 
and  saw  the  gas-lamps  lit  in  the  street,  with  a 
sense  of  having  been  in  a  place  just  a  little  over 
the  world's  rim. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  EAST  GOWER  COAST — THE  MUMBLES,  OSTRE- 
MUERE  AND  PENNARD — MORGAN,  QUEEN  OF  THE 
LAND  OF  GORE — "  DRAB  A  AIZOIDES  " 

"I  am  the  Queen  Morgan  le  Fay, 
queen  of  the  land  of  Gore." 

"MOBTE   D'ARTHTJB." 

LEAVING  the  last  of  the  Swansea  suburbs  at 
Sketty,  and  then  striking  across  Clyne  Moor  for 
Bishopston,  or  taking  the  more  usual  route  by 
the  lazy  Mumbles  railway,  you  will  find  a  change 
of  entertainment  in  the  land  of  Gore.  There  is 
a  choice  of  castles,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Bone 
Caves  and  smugglers'  "  runs,"  the  endless  creeks  or 
"slades,"  and  the  cliff  architecture  above  them. 

Oystermouth  Castle,  better  than  the  fragments 
of  Swansea,  recalls  the  hold  of  the  castle-builders 
in  the  country.  Apparently  the  first  of  the 
string  of  Gower  fortresses  tied  to  Swansea  Castle, 
"  Ostremuere  "  afterwards  became  more  important 
than  Abertawe.  As  you  see  it  now,  you  see  it 
much  altered  from  its  original  state.  The  first 
castle  was  burnt  in  the  eighteenth  century,  when 
the  present  one  was  built  in  its  place.  Hence, 
the  ornamental  character  of  some  of  the  win- 
dows, which  in  one  instance,  that  in  the  chapel, 
show  fine  tracery,  of  a  convolute  pattern  (restored 

183 


184  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

some  thirty  years  ago).  The  Castle  is  apparently 
eccentric  in  design,  but  well  adapted  to  its  site 
and  polygonal  in  form,  with  no  show  of  sentinel- 
towers  beyond  the  gate-tower  and  the  keep.  The 
keep  is  the  only  part  of  the  original  castle  now 
remaining.  As  you  enter  the  gate,  and  regarrison 
the  place  in  your  record,  one  castellan  stands  out 
clearly,  and  it  is  the  figure  again  of  William 
de  Braos,  "  Breuse  sance  PiteY'  Having  already 
twenty  castles  and  more  at  his  back,  he  made 
"  Ostremuere "  his  dungeons-in-chief,  where  he 
cast  those  contumacious  Welsh  and  other  trouble- 
some neighbours  who  did  not  subscribe  to  his 
plans,  or  help  to  feed  his  house  and  estate.  At 
the  opening  of  the  fourteenth  century  he  was  a 
multiple  Lord  Marcher  and  castle-owner,  whose 
powers  were  so  superlative  that  at  last  they 
intoxicated  him.  He  held  in  all  some  fifty-nine 
lordships,  and  King  John  in  the  early  years  of 
his  reign  gave  to  him  the  whole  of  Gower,  on 
terms  of  only  one  knight's  service.  His  wife, 
Maude  de  Haia,  was  a  fit  mate  for  him.  While 
he  passed  as  a  symbol  of  cruelty,  murder,  and 
rapine  into  the  later  Arthurian  tales,  she  became 
in  Welsh  folk-lore  a  gorgeous  witch,  a  Morgan 
le  Fay,  a  giant- woman  of  giant  strength.  She 
was  overwhelmingly  haughty  in  her  bearing ; 
without  any  woman's  weakness  ;  physically  with- 
out fear.  Their  children  were  of  the  same  build 
with  themselves,  and  had  the  same  Norman  grip, 
in  accordance  with  the  couplet — 

"  Les  Normains  out  les  mains  crochus ; 
C'est  le  mieux  ramasser  tout." 

(The  Normans   have   the   hands   crook'd  so, 
The  better  to  clutch  all,    you  know.) 


THE  EAST  GOWER  COAST  185 

But  enough  has  been  said  of  the  De  Braoses 
already.  Another  witch-woman,  her  fellow- 
enchantress,  who  still  enchants  and  tantalises 
one  here  on  the  threshold  of  Gower,  is  the  old 
Queen  of  Gore.  There  are  more  regions  of 
Morgan  le  Fay  than  one,  but  it  is  as  certain  as 
anything  in  romance  that  Gower  is  their  Welsh 
original.  The  "  land  of  Gore "  suggests  a  land  of 
witches,  approached  as  it  is  through  a  valley  of 
desolation,  the  dreadful  valley  of  Landore  (which 
Morgan  le  Fay  might  easily  have  devised  and 
set  there  by  black-magic  as  a  barrier  to  her 
dominions).  It  is  strange  that  King  Mark  in 
his  rage  against  Tristan  and  his  cousin  Alisander 
should  have  sent  to  Morgan  le  Fay  and  another 
queen,  "praying  that  they  two  sorceresses 
would  set  all  the  country  in  fire  with  ladies 
that  were  enchantresses  "  and  dangerous  knights 
like  Malgrin  and  Breuse  sance  Pite,  for  the  reek 
of  that  fire  still  hangs  dreadfully  over  Landore. 

But  at  the  Mumbles  you  have  left  the  copper- 
smoke  far  behind.  The  time  to  climb  the  Mumbles 
Hill  is  late  on  a  summer  evening,  when  the  tide 
is  full  and  the  sun  westering.  But  by  broad 
moonlight  on  a  clear  night  the  bay  looks  just 
as  fair :  if  the  sea-surroundings  are  not  so  distinct, 
the  furnace-glow  on  the  left  is  mysterious  to  see. 
Seen  by  day,  the  view  ranges  along  the  Glamorgan 
coast,  beginning  with  the  superb  curve  of  Swansea 
Bay,  and  traversing  the  mouths  of  the  rivers 
Tawe  and  Neath,  and  scanning  the  smoke-cloud 
of  Swansea  town  and  the  dolorous  valley  of 
Landore.  Past  Port  Talbot,  the  view  just  skirts 
the  sands  of  Kenfig,  with  Porthcawl  and  Nash 
Point  all  but  lost  to  view  in  the  coast  perspec- 
tive ;  over  the  Channel  the  heights  of  Exmoor 


186  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

and,  further  east,  the  Quantocks  are  visible. 
Nearer  home,  on  the  other  hand,  some  familiar 
points  of  the  Gower  coast  are  quite  hidden, 
while  others  stand  out  and  look  as  if  they  were 
within  a  stone's  throw.  This  is,  to  adopt  a  triad, 
one  of  the  Three  great  vistas  of  this  southern 
coast. 

One  uncertain  April  morning  I  started  with 
Mercury  from  Oystermouth  to  Pennard  Castle.  A 
pelting  shower  on  the  first  steep  hill  drove  us  under 
the  ivy  of  a  high  wall  for  shelter;  the  rest  was 
all  bright  windy  weather,  with  blue  and  white 
skies,  and  dry,  white  roads  such  as  you  get  in 
limestone  country. 

Outside  Norton,  we  overtook  a  big  herd-lad 
driving  the  proverbial  three  cows.  They  were 
three  sisters ;  the  first  eight,  the  second  seven,  the 
third  six  years  old  :  sleek,  brown  and  dun  animals, 
Alderney  and  Shorthorn  crossed.  The  lad  was 
fond  of  the  creatures,  and  proud  of  their  cross- 
bred qualities.  "  They  were  good  milkers,  or 
fairly  good,"  he  said,  much  better  than  your  pure 
Alderneys.  "  An  Alderney  is  not  worth  her  salt " 
was  a  common  saying  among  the  Gower  farmers. 

Next  we  dropt  into  the  deep  valley  of  Bishopston, 
and  went  to  see  the  church.  The  churchyard 
looked  still  enough  as  we  went  in ;  still  as  graves  can 
be.  But  suddenly,  from  near  the  wall  and  behind 
a  gravestone,  out  sprang  a  boy  ;  then  another  and 
another,  till  quite  a  troop  of  them  went  whooping 
by  in  some  boyish  panic.  It  was  like  a  sudden 
resurrection  of  imps  from  the  graves. 

The  church  was  rather  rude,  but  of  true  country 
character :  a  nave  with  chancel  several  feet  higher 
giving  a  certain  charm  of  the  unexpected  to  it,  as 
different  pitches  do,  It  was  full  of  exquisitely 


THE  EAST  GOWER  COAST  187 

arranged  growing  plants,  small  palms,  and  tropical 
flowers  with  white,  purple,  and  pale  red  blooms — 
the  whole  kept  with  extreme  care.  Evidently  a 
good  spirit  was  in  attendance.  The  church  would 
have  tempted  the  most  restless  wanderer  in,  to  give 
himself  up  to  human  hopes  and  holy  fears  for  a 
breathing  space. 

This  experience  was  so  good  that  it  tempted 
another  halt  at  the  next  church — Pennard.  A 
still  simpler  building,  it  had  chosen  a  hermit's  site 
under  a  fir-wood,  in  a  curiously  isolated  place.  I 
left  Mercury  at  the  gate,  my  coat  and  wallet  and 
gloves  strapp'd  on  the  carrier.  Inside  I  found  a 
carved  pulpit,  and  stayed  to  sketch  a  dragon  thrice 
repeated  on  the  upper  panels,  rudely  but  well 
designed — a  sort  of  dragon  trailant.  The  beast,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  proved  actively  malevolent. 
When  I  went  out  again  Mercury  was  there,  but 
wallet  and  gloves  were  clean  gone.  The  roads,  the 
landscape,  the  trees,  gave  no  sign.  It  was  clearly 
the  dragon's  doing.  Much  exercised  at  this  black- 
magic,  I  went  on  my  way  smiling  Malvolio-like 
smiles  and  gently  objurgating. 

No  village  of  Pennard  appeared.  No  doubt  the 
dragon  had  used  his  arts  upon  it  too.  I  took 
lunch — home-made  bread,  Gower  cheese,  and  good 
ale — at  a  small  inn  in  Park  Mill.  Pennard  Castle 
lies  a  mile  away  down  a  curious  sand-valley. 
Having  climbed  up  from  the  cwm  and  filled  one's 
shoes  with  loose  sand  in  doing  so,  one  was  inclined 
to  make  much  of  the  extreme  solitariness  of  the 
Castle  and  the  desolation  of  the  sunned  courts  with 
the  sand  silted  deep  on  the  floors.  However,  in 
emerging  from  the  Castle,  I  saw  the  white  stubs  of 
a  golf  course.  Near  by,  two  small  children  were 
rolling  down  a  sandhill  and  shrieking  with  impish 


188 

delight,  while,  regardless  of  the  noise  and  all  outer 
things,  a  lady  lay  couched  against  a  green  knoll 
writing — no  doubt  a  romance  of  the  Castle — 
writing  as  if  for  dear  life. 

This  unexpected  apparition  had  to  serve  in  place 
of  the  ancient  ghost  of  Pennard  Castle,  whom  the 
golf  players  have  no  doubt  driven  away  now  for 
good.  The  "  Gwrach  y  Rhibyn  "  it  was  who  used 
to  haunt  the  walls,  and  she  even  resented  any 
impertinent  visitor,  especially  after  dark.  One 
such  there  was  who  went  there  by  night  in  her 
despite,  and  failed  to  reach  home.  Next  day  they 
found  him  bruised,  scratched,  and  bleeding,  his  hair 
matted  with  sand  and  blood.  He  said  the  G'rach 
had  pounced  on  him  like  an  eagle,  and  pecked  him 
with  her  beak,  and  scratched  him  with  her  long 
bird-like  talons.  One  detail,  that  she  smelt  like  a 
"bucket  o'  tar,"  sounds  bad.  Since  then  she  has 
had  the  Castle  of  a  night  to  herself. 

Pennard  has  a  better  and  more  authentic  folk- 
tale than  this,  however.  Once,  on  the  night  of 
the  wedding  feast  of  its  Welsh  chief  and  castellan, 
who  had  carried  back  a  rich  bride  from  the  North 
after  fighting  there  for  her  father,  the  watchman 
heard  an  unusual  humming  and  soft  shrilling 
within  the  walls.  He  grew  uneasy  as  he  listened, 
and  then  called  the  porter  out  from  behind  the 
great  door.  He,  too,  heard  the  uncanny  sound. 
Together  they  went  into  the  yard,  and  saw  there 
in  the  moon-dazzle  a  troop  of  the  Tylwyth  Teg,  or 
Fair  Family,  dancing  and  singing.  Full  of  amaze, 
they  ran  back  to  tell  the  bridegroom  of  the  sight. 
But  he  fell  into  a  rage,  and  swore  he  would  have  no 
"  coblynau"  (goblins)  in  his  castle,  and  finally  rushed 
out  into  the  moonlight  and  attacked  the  moon- 
beams as  Cuchulain  fought  the  waves — in  default 


THE  EAST  GOWER  COAST  189 

of  the  small  folk,  who  had  all  disappeared.  But 
they  took  their  fairy  revenge  all  the  same.  A  voice 
like  the  wind  rising  cried,  "  y  dyn  heb  groesaw. 
Bydd  heb  gastell,  heb  giniaw " — that  is,  "  The 
man  without  welcome.  He  shall  be  without  castle 
or  wedding  feast ! "  Even  as  the  voice  died  away 
the  wind  rose  and  blew  the  sand  up  in  such  clouds 
that  it  smothered  the  Castle,  covered  the  wedding 
feast  like  snow,  and  drove  the  people  out  home- 
less. 

Pennard  Castle,  however,  is  one  of  the  few 
castles  that  are  traditionally  of  faery  origin ; 
which  in  Wales  generally  means  that  the  site  was 
that  of  a  British  Caer  before  it  came  into  the  hands 
of  the  later  castle-builders.  The  tradition,  which 
seems  contrary  to  the  above  story,  is  that  it  was, 
like  Hay  Castle,  built  in  a  single  night ;  some  say 
by  the  Tylwyth  Teg,  some  by  a  Welsh  Fferyll 
(Virgil,  i.e.,  a  wizard),  who  did  it  to  save  his  life. 
The  Normans  had  taken  him  prisoner  after  a 
Welsh  raid,  and  gave  him  the  choice  either  of 
building  up  the  Castle  in  a  night  or  dying  in  the 
morning.  In  the  morning  it  was  built.  It  was 
apparently  as  a  faery  fort — a  haunted  "  rath,"  to 
use  the  Irish  word — that  Pennard  first  got  its 
uncanny  name. 

For  botanists,  it  is  haunted  by  a  rare  creature, 
too — the  shade  of  Drdba  aizoides.  Some  of  the 
guide-books  confidently  say  this  rare  plant  grows 
on  the  walls.  If  ever  it  did,  it  does  so  no  longer. 
It  does  grow  in  Gower,  but  it  needs  a  cliff  climber 
to  get  it. 

On  the  return  journey  from  Pennard  we  were 
rapidly  descending  a  lane  north  of  Bishopston 
valley,  when  we  overtook  two  young  men  with  tin 
botany  cases  strapped  on  their  shoulders.  Within 


190  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

those  tin  tubes  I  saw,  as  plainly  as  if  the  covering 
had  been  of  glass,  the  covetable  small  leaves  of 
Drdba  aizoides.  We  pulled  up  abreast  of  the  two 
wayfarers,  and  asked  boldly  and  all  short  if  they 
had  been  in  quest  of  her.  They  smiled  ingenuously 
in  Scotch,  and  said  Yes.  The  elder  and  taller  of  the 
two  showed  me  fresh  scratches  and  skin-wounds  on 
his  hands,  and  then  opened  his  case.  Most  gener- 
ously he  bestowed  a  sprig  of  the  delicate  Gower 
Draba  on  me.  A  later  drawing  of  the  leaves  is 
too  rough  to  be  given  here. 

Draba  aizoides  is  the  yellow  Alpine  whitlow-grass, 
and  though  it  was  now  only  mid-April  the  yellow 
flowers  were  just  past  their  prime,  and  some  had 
already  faded  to  brown.  The  leaves  (to  quote  the 
Rev.  C.  A.  Johns)  are  "narrow,  pointed,  rigid, 
glossy,  keeled  and  fringed."  Its  cousin,  Draba 
verna,  the  vernal  whitlow-grass,  is  more  common, 
and  flowers  as  early  as  the  lesser  celandine.  They 
belong  to  the  Cruciferae.  Another  "  Draba,"  the 
Bock  whitlow-grass,  grows  on  the  highest  of  the 
Highland  mountain-rocks.  I  think  one  of  the  two 
botanists  said  he  had  gathered  this,  too,  on  Ben 
Nevis.  They  had  only  a  week's  holiday,  and  had 
come  all  the  way  from  Edinburgh  to  look  for  such 
treasure-trove  in  Devonshire  and  South  Wales ; 
and  they  spoke  with  infectious  enthusiasm  of  their 
adventure. 

At  Park  Mill  may  be  found — where  precisely  it 
would  not  be  right  to  disclose — the  Hairy  Cress, 
Arabis  hirsuta,  another  of  the  cruciform  herbs. 
On  the  sands  in  the  neighbourhood,  too,  may  be 
seen  the  Sea  Stork's  Bill — Erodium  maritimum — 
and  other  sand-loving  plants.  The  Sea  Stork's  Bill 
has  spiral  seed-caps  which  untwist  in  the  rain,  and 
can  jump  like  a  frog.  Hordeum  maritimum  is  some- 


THE   EAST  GOWER  COAST  191 

thing  seen  too,  but  more  and  more  rarely.  The 
Osmunda  regalis  was  to  be  seen  a  few  summers  ago, 
growing  wild  in  the  marshes  of  Western  Gower. 
The  Meadow  Clary,  one  of  the  sages,  is  another  un- 
common plant  found  in  the  peninsula,  which  is  not 
usually  thought  a  native  of  Wales. 


THE  MALEVOLENT  DRAGON  :  PENNABD  CHUBCH  (p.  187). 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  GO  WEB  CAVES — THE  "BED  LADY  OF  PAVILAND  " 
— GOODWICK  AND  PENBICE — ABTHUfi'S  STONE — 
WOBM'S  HEAD — WEOBLEY  CASTLE  AND  THE 
LASS  OP  PENCLAWDD 

WITHIN  reach  on  foot  from  Oystermouth,  and 
stretching  along  the  whole  south  coast  of  Gower, 
beginning  at  Bacon  Hole — suggestive  name — you 
have  two  series  of  caves  to  explore,  some  of  which 
represent  the  earliest  kind  of  cliff-castle  known 
in  Britain.  But  for  the  sake  of  the  adventure, 
you  ought  to  follow  the  coast  round  Pwll  Du,  and 
see  the  camp  above. 

If  y*ou  have  come  from  Caswell  Bay,  you  have 
already  passed  Brandy  Cove,  and  crossed  the  end 
of  the  Bishopston  valley,  up  which  the  smugglers 
used  to  "  run  "  their  brandy- wine  and  other  goods 
and  now  a  famous  objective,  because  of  its  extreme 
picturesqueness,  for  Gower  picnickers  and  holi- 
day-makers. The  way  up  the  valley,  from  the 
Beaufort  Arms,  and  this  side  of  High  Pennard, 
after  crossing  the  stream,  lies  under  Pwll  Du 
Wood.  So  along  the  stream,  when  there  is  any 
stream ;  and  when  it  is  lost  to  sight,  along  its 
dry  overflow  flood  course,  which  serves  as  a 
rough  road.  I  have  already  spoken  of  Bishopston 
Church,  but  might  have  added  that  its  old  Welsh 

192 


THE  GOWER  COAST  193 

name  is  Llandeilo-Verwalt,  and  that  the  Rev. 
Edward  Davies,  author  of  Celtic  Researches 
and  the  Mystery  of  the  Ancient  Britons,  was 
rector  of  the  parish,  and  lies  buried  in  the 
churchyard.  As  the  Welsh  name  shows,  the 
church  is  another  of  the  series  in  South  Wales 
dedicated  to  St.  Teilo. 

The  next  point  westward  after  the  cove  or  cwm 
at  the  opening  of  the  valley  is  High  Pennard,  whose 
name  and  that  of  its  fellow  Pennard  further  on 
may  remind  you  of  two  other  Pennards,  East  and 
West,  across  the  Channel  in  the  heart  of  Somerset 
and  the  Vale  of  Avalon.  A  very  different  sea-shore 
is  this  to  that  at  the  foot  of  the  vale  where  the 
Somerset  Pennards  lie.  Here  you  have  Pwll  Du 
Head,  where  you  ought  to  explore  the  old  camp 
on  its  west  side,  to  end  the  blind  peninsula ;  and 
going  west  you  reach  the  farm  in  the  dip  at 
Dipslade,  close  to  which  lies  the  great  bone  cave  of 
Bacon  Hole,  to  which  a  farm-track  and  foot- 
path lead.  The  cave,  now  that  it  has  given  up 
its  bones,  need  hardly  tempt  the  antiquarian  to 
descend  the  cliff  to  its  mouth.  The  cave  is  pitched 
in  a  natural  "  fault,"  causing  a  fissure  in  the  lime- 
stone. The  first  question  that  arises  about  the 
bones  is  how  and  why  they  were  brought  there  ? 
Were  some  of  them  the  remains  of  the  feasts  of 
the  carnivorous,  and  possibly  cannibal,  prehistoric 
cave-men  who  lived  on  these  shores,  long  before 
the  first  Celt  left  his  home  in  the  east? 
Cannibal,  it  ought  only  to  be  said  under  protest. 
Some  later  discoveries,  as  in  the  Croatian  Bone 
Cave,  near  Agram,  whose  situation  on  the  sand- 
stone cliff  sixty  feet  above  the  Krapina  River  is  very 
like  this,  hint  at  a  more  terrible  kind  of  ogre  in 
the  old  days,  with  powerful  jaws,  who  ate  some- 

13 


194  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

times  rhinoceros  steaks,  sometimes  his  fellow-beings. 
There  are  hearths  in  the  Krapina  Cave  to  show 
on  how  gruesome  and  vast  a  scale  his  cookery  was. 
Who  can  tell  us  what  scenes  went  on  in  Bacon  and 
Minchin  Holes  ?  Only  aborigines  like  the  "  Red 
Lady  of  Paviland." 

In  the  time  of  the  Press-Gangs  the  more  secure 
of  these  caves  were  used  by  the  men  of  the 
neighbourhood  as  hiding-places,  the  women-folk 
bringing  provisions  when  they  could.  Between 
High  Pennard  and  Pennard  Burrows,  just  below 
the  Castle  visited  yesterday,  lie  three  more  caves, 
of  which  Minchin  Hole  and  Fox  Hole  are  worth 
a  visit.  Minchin  Hole  is  a  palatial  hole,  compara- 
tively: high  and  wide,  nearly  opposite  the  rocks 
of  Sir  Christopher's  Knowl;  and  Bosco's  Den  and 
Bowen's  Parlour,  or  the  Devil's  Hole,  have  smug- 
glers' tales  to  tell,  as  well  as  their  prehistoric  dead 
to  give  up.  A  comparatively  recent  romancer  has 
refurnished  these  Parlours,  and  called  their  hero 
back  to  life  under  the  name  of  Rounce  the 
Smuggler.  * 

Another  four  miles'  tramping  past  Penmaen,  along 
the  Gower  backbone,  Cefn  y  Bryn,  and  one  reaches, 
on  the  northern  side  of  the  "  cefn,"  first  a  Holy 
Well,  of  which  Morgan  le  Fay  might  have  been  the 
guardian,  and  then  the  big  cromlech — Arthur's 
Stone,  where  the  Gower  pilgrimage  often  ends. 

It  is  easy  to  miss  it  on  that  stone-strewn  reach  of 
high  moorland,  on  which  you  can  trace,  as  at  Stone- 
henge,  the  alignment  of  a  great  open-air  temple 
whose  sun-determined  lines  and  spaces,  are  witness 
of  its  architecture.  Indeed,  as  you  stand  there  and 
look  around  you,  you  begin  to  realise  that  the 
place  was  one  where  the  earth's  relation  to  the 

*  See  The  Man  at   Odds ;  A  Romance  of  the  Severn  Sea. 


THE   GOWER  COAST  195 

stars  and  to  the  elements  was  destined  to  appeal 
at  once,  as  at  Carnac  and  Salisbury  Plain,  to  those 
astronomical  builders  and  starry  masons. 

As  for  the  cromlech  or  dolmen,  St.  David,  tradi- 
tion says,  split  this  stone  with  a  sword  to 
show  "  it  was  not  sacred,  as  the  Druids  held." 
Llanddewi — the  Llan  or  church-close  of  David — 
about  two  miles  south-west,  gives  just  a  tinge  of 
local  reality  to  this  tale.  Camden,  more  matter-of- 
fact,  says  that  pieces  were  broken  off  to  make 
into  millstones  ;  and  this  may  serve  to  remind  one 
that  the  stone  is  really  of  pudding-stone,  or  red 
sandstone  conglomerate.  Others  will  say,  perhaps, 
that  since  this  is  a  burial-place,  it  might  be  another 
of  the  High  King's  seven  fabled  sleeping-places  ; 
that  here  Morgan  le  Fay,  or  the  Queen  of  Gore, 
brought  him  by  art-magic  after  the  "last  dread 
battle " ;  and  that  here  he  lies,  waiting  for  his 
waking  day.  Before  it  was  known  as  Arthur's 
Stone,  however,  the  cromlech  was  called,  after  St. 
Ketti,  "  Maen  Ceti,"  which  is  recalled  by  the 
proverb,  "  mal  llwyth  maen  Ceti " — like  the  load  of 
Ketty's  Stone,  spoken  of  any  particularly  heavy 
burden. 

One  last  uncanny  peculiarity  of  the  huge  cap- 
stone must  be  told.  Once  a  year,  on  Christmas 
Eve,  it  leaves  its  place  in  the  dolmen  and  goes 
down  to  the  sea  to  drink,  and  woe  to  the  wight 
that  sees  it  at  that  office. 

The  view  from  Cefn  Bryn,  near  and  above  the 
stone,  is  entrancing  and  one  to  further  every  idea 
of  the  ancient  sacredness  of  the  place.  It  only 
remains  to  go  on  to  Worm's  Head,  and  there  sit  an 
hour,  if  it  is  not  too  windy  a  day,  perched  on  its 
extraordinary  sea-perch  looking  westward,  to 
understand  why  the  land  of  Gower  required  a. 


196  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

water-witch   for   queen,   and   why  it   became    an 
enchanted  province  in  Arthuria. 

One  February  day — it  must  be  twenty  years  ago 
— I  and  a  friend,  a  Welsh  namesake  of  the  poet 
Dryden,  went  to  Worm's  Head  when  a  furious 
westerly  gale  was  blowing.  We  had  fairly  to  creep 
on  hands  and  knees  along  the  neck  leading  to  it, 
such  was  the  force  of  the  wind,  and  we  expected 
to  find  the  Head  itself  quite  untenable.  To  our 
surprise,  the  air  proved  instead  to  be  comparatively 
still  on  the  furthest  and  highest  brink.  There  we 
sat  in  great  peace  and  comfort  while  the  wind 
raged  below  us  and  vexed  the  waves  and  buffeted 
the  sea-birds,  including  one  black-backed  gull 
who  seemed  intent  on  getting  into  the  bottom 
ledges. 

From  Worm's  Head  it  is  roughly  a  league  back 
along  the  coast  to  Yellow  Top  and  the  Paviland 
Caves,  where  Dr.  Buckland  came  upon  the  pre- 
historic "  Red  Lady  of  Paviland  " — red  because  of 
the  red-iron  stain  on  her  poor  bones.  We  might, 
adopting  the  old  manner  of  the  Triads,  say  that  the 
three  famous  ladies  of  the  land  of  Gore  were  Maud 
de  Haia,  Morgan  le  Fay,  and  the  "Red  Lady  of 
Paviland." 

Three  old  British  (?)  camps  are  to  be  easily 
traced  out  on  the  cliffs  between  Worm's  Head 
and  Port  Eynon.  At  Port  Eynon,  once  a  notorious 
smugglers'  centre,  now  a  sandy  watering-place 
where  a  folk-lore  collector  has  lately  found  some 
good  material,  you  are  close  to  Oxwich  Castle  and 
Oxwich  Bay.  You  might  have  crossed  from  Pennard 
Castle  here  on  your  way  west,  for  at  low  tide  you 
can  get  round  to  Oxwich  Castle  from  the  Park 
Mill  outlet  by  the  sands,  saving  a  long  circuit. 

Oxwich  has  a  desperate  old  feud  of  the  Hansels 


THE  GOWER  COAST  197 

and  Herberts  wrapped  up  in  its  chronicle.  The 
dispute  rose  over  a  French  vessel  wrecked  on  the 
coast  on  St.  Stephen's  Day,  December  26,  1557, 
which  was  laden  with  wool,  figs,  and  raisins. 
The  Mansel  wreckers  had  evidently  been  prompt  in 
rifling  the  ship,  and  had  carried  off  much  of  the 
booty  to  houses  in  "  Oxwick."  Getting  wind  of  it, 
Sir  George  Herbert  of  Swansea,  who  claimed  the 
wreck  as  his,  arrived  hotfoot  at  the  village  with 
his  retainers.  They  went  to  several  houses  and 
dragged  out  the  booty  that  had  been  stored  there 
and  carried  it  to  the  church.  Then  they  went  in 
force  to  the  Castle,  and  at  the  gate  were  met  by 
Sir  Rice's  son,  Edward,  who  had  been  away,  possibly 
to  get  help.  A  fight  followed,  in  which  Edward 
was  hurt  in  the  arm.  With  the  defending  party 
was  an  old  lady,  a  woman  of  great  spirit,  Mistress 
Anne  Mansel  of  Landewy,  Edward's  aunt,  who  had 
returned  with  him  to  the  Castle  on  horseback.  She 
appears  in  white  ruff  and  brown  redingote,  as  the 
Welsh  gentlewoman  of  that  day.  She  had  already 
encountered  Sir  George  on  the  highway,  and  bade 
him  not  go  "  to  the  said  mansion  house  against  the 
said  Edward,  or  contend  with  him  for  such  pylfery 
goods  I " 

"  It  is  not  for  that,"  Sir  George  replied.  "  Your 
nephew  has  abused  my  servants,  as  good  gentle- 
men as  Edward  himself,  whom  I  will  teach  to  know 
the  worst  servant  in  my  house." 

Thereupon  they  rode  on  to  the  gate,  where  they 
were  met  in  force.  Old  Mistress  Mansel  there 
dismounted,  and  went  on  into  the  gateway.  Her 
horse,  after  a  first  brush  between  the  two  parties, 
was  put  athwart  the  gate,  as  a  temporary  barrier, 
while  she  herself  stood  two  or  three  yards  behind 
the  supporters  of  young  Mansel.  He,  says  one 


198  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

witness,  "stapped  one  stepe  furth  of  the  gate, 
when  he  saw  the  others  advance,  and  struck  at 
William  Herbert."  "  One  of  Edward  Hansel's 
men  had  a  gleyve  staff,  and  the  others  swerdes." 
Mistress  Mansel  seemed  to  try  to  persuade  her 
nephew  to  be  placable,  and  "  wold  have  pushed 
him  in  at  the  gate." 

"  I  pray  you,  good  Cosin,  get  you  in  !  "  she 
said. 

But  his  blood  was  up  and  his  sword  out,  and  the 
old  lady  of  Llandewy  had  to  stand  aside.  She  had 
paused  behind  him,  only  two  or  three  yards  away, 
when  one  of  the  siegers,  Watkin  John  ap  Watkin, 
transferring  his  sword  to  his  left  hand,  picked  up 
a  big  stone  in  his  right,  and  threw  it.  Evidently 
intended  for  those  his  sword  could  not  reach,  it 
struck  the  old  gentlewoman  full  on  the  forehead, 
and  she  fell  to  the  ground. 

"Upon  the  strykinge  downe  of  the  said  Anne 
Manxell,  they  within  the  gate  cryed  owte  '  Murd- 
der,  murdder.'  Upon  whyche  throwe  and  crye,  the 
said  Sr>  G.  H.  called  his  men  away." 

Another  witness  deposed  that  Sir  George 
Herbert  "  before  the  fraye,  brag'd  that  he  wold 
bynd  the  said  Ed.  Maunsel  like  a  boye  and  send 
him  to  his  father  like  a  cocke." 

Star  Chamber  proceedings  followed,  and  Sir 
George  Herbert  had  to  pay  heavy  fines  and  damages 
both  to  the  Crown  and  to  the  Mansels.  The  deed 
of  inquest  held  on  the  body  of  the  old  lady  says 
the  mortal  wound  was  of  the  breadth  of  two 
thumbs  and  the  depth — "even  to  the  brain," 
though  the  stone  was  of  "  no  great  bigness." 

Oxwich  Castle  was  occupied  by  Mansels  till 
1658.  Then  it  was  let  to  Mr.  Francis  Bevan,  whose 
descendants  still  farm  the  land.  The  Mansels  get 


THE   GOWER  COAST  199 

their  name  from  Mans,  as  you  discover  in  the 
"  Roman  de  Rou  "  : — 

"E  par  consence  des  Mansels 
Helies  e  Mans  s'embati 
E  cil  del  Mans  1'unt  recoilli." 

The  most  famous  of  the  family  was  Sir  John 
Mansel,  Lord  Chancellor,  Lord  Chief  Justice  of 
England,  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  Prior  of 
Beverley,  Treasurer  of  York,  and  the  friend  ("in 
this  world  and  in  the  world  to  come")  of 
Henry  III. 

The  sea  has  won  a  long  tide's  reach  on  the  land 
almost  within  living  memory.  A  print  to  be  seen 
at  Swansea  Library  shows  one  evidence  of  it  in 
the  vanished  old  parsonage  house,  Oxwich,  washed 
away  by  the  sea,  about  1805.  It  stood  between 
the  church  and  the  tide-line,  which  has  now  crept 
up  to  the  churchyard. 

Penrice  Castle  only  lies  a  mile  nor'-west  of 
Oxwich  ;  and  after  Ostreinuere  it  was  the  "  maist 
strongest "  hold  in  Gower.  Penrice  is  Pen  Rhys, 
and  hither  drew  to  a  hold  Rhys,  the  unlucky  grand- 
son of  lestyn  ab  Gwrgant.  He  was  soon  over- 
taken by  the  Norman  flood,  with  Henry  de 
Beaumont  in  the  van ;  and  Rhys  was  beheaded. 
The  present  Castle  was  built  and  added  to  at 
various  times,  and  became  one  of  the  wonders  of 
Gower.  The  place  now  impresses  one  as  overlaid 
with  immemorial  layers  of  antiquity.  Another 
newer  house  has  grown  up  under  the  shelter  of 
the  old,  just  as  new  trees  have  sprung  from  the 
old,  still  standing  side  by  side  in  the  old  park  and 
by  its  sleepy  wild-duck  pond.  With  one  fellow- 
traveller  I  passed  it  one  gusty  winter  afternoon 


200  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

in  1889 ;  with  another,  M.  A.  B.,  in  broad,  rich 
summer,  twenty  years  later.  In  both  seasons,  it 
breathed  the  rich,  double-distilled  antique  aroma 
of  the  house  upon  house,  the  patrimony  upon 
patrimony,  that  have  warmed  generations  of  com- 
fortable heirs  and  well-endowed  dames.  On  the 
last  occasion  we  were  not  surprised,  I  remember, 
to  find  at  the  King  Arthur  Inn  at  Reynoldston 
a  welcome  waiting  us,  with  tea  above  a  walled 
garden  and  rose-petals  falling  into  our  teacups. 

West  of  Cefn  Bryn,  the  cairns  on  Rhosilly 
Downs  and  Llanmadoc  Hill  are  the  best  vantage- 
grounds  from  which  to  survey  the  coast-line. 
There  are  three  standing  stones  in  a  field,  a  mile 
west  of  Reynoldston,  which  you  can  visit  on  the 
way  to  Llangennydd  and  Llanmadoc.  And  south 
of  Reynoldston  lies  "Stout  Hall,"  whose  owner, 
Colonel  Wood,  unearthed  one  of  the  great  bone- 
caves. 

The  history  of  Llangennydd  and  Llanmadoc 
parishes  have  been  written  with  affectionate  full- 
ness by  a  quondam  rector,  the  Rev.  J.  D.  Davies. 
His  death  alone  prevented  his  completing  his  work 
as  local  chronicler  in  detail  of  all  Gower.  He  tells 
in  its  pages  the  strange  story  of  the  wreck,  without 
any  gale  or  storm  to  engender  it,  in  January,  1868, 
of  sixteen  vessels  in  Broughton  Bay.  Eighteen  or 
nineteen  sail  were  outward  bound,  vessels  from 
80-400  tons  burden.  There  was  a  tricky  ground- 
sea,  not  noticed  particularly  till  they  reached 
Whitf ord  Lighthouse.  Here  one  or  two  anchored ; 
the  others  having  been  let  go  by  the  pilot-tug 
hoped  to  clear  Burry  Holms  with  the  help  of  the 
ebb  tides,  and  make  a  good  offing.  Only  one  or 
two  did  so.  The  floodtide  set  in;  the  wind  died 
away;  and  some  sixteen  of  them  drifted  back, 


THE  GOWER  COAST  201 

some  dashing  against  the  rocks,  some  against  each 
other.  A  few  sank  in  mid-river,  having  their 
bottoms  knocked  out  by  thumping  on  the  sandj 
for  the  swell  was  so  heavy  that  at  one  moment  a 
boat  would  be  atop  a  wave,  and  then  be  swept 
down,  thud,  on  the  bottom.  A  pilot  ship,  the 
Hulk,  was  in  the  Bay,  and  a  few  men  escaped  to 
her  by  boat ;  and  stayed  there  till  day.  Next 
morning  there  was  great  grief.  The  disaster 
happened  between  nine  and  ten  at  night,  and  no 
one  in  the  village  knew  of  it,  but  at  daylight 
the  shore  was  seen  to  be  covered  from  Whitford 
Sker  to  Burry  Holms  with  seamen's  clothes, 
broken  spars,  hulls  of  vessels,  ropes,  and  large 
strewage  of  coal.  The  drowned  sailors  were 
buried,  as  they  came  ashore,  in  various  church- 
yards of  this  coast. 

On  that  ill-starred  night  the  choir  was  at 
practice  in  Llanmadoc  Church  when  suddenly  an 
indescribable  cry  of  terror  was  heard  in  the  church- 
yard, as  of  some  one  in  mortal  fear.  "  I  ran  out," 
said  Mr.  Davies,  the  rector,  "  to  see  what  it  was, 
and  saw  a  young  lad  standing  there,  his  face  dis- 
torted with  fright.  He  said  he  had  seen  a  man 
without  his  hat  come  and  look  in  through  the 
window.  The  boy,  being  taken  into  the  church, 
was  some  time  in  coming  to  himself.  It  was  be- 
lieved that  what  he  saw  was  the  ghost  of  one  of 
the  drowned  men,  as  this  was  the  very  hour  of  the 
wrecks." 

Working  back  along  the  North-Gower  coast,  you 
have  leagues  of  sandy  wastes  on  your  left  hand  as 
you  approach  Weobley  Castle.  The  guide-books 
will  tell  you  what  a  dull,  melancholy  region  it  is. 
For  myself,  I  can  only  say  that  on  a  hazy  spring 
day  the  effect  of  the  yellow  sand  merging  in  the 


202  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

pale  milky  white  water  of  the  Burry  Inlet  had  a 
charm  of  its  own.  The  long  sand-spit  of  White- 
ford  Barrows  looked  neither  like  earth  nor  sea  in 
the  shimmering  April  grisaille  ;  it  suggested  an 
isle  of  apparitions,  an  unconditioned  peninsula, 
where  "the  waters  wap"  and  the  waves  are  wan. 

Weobley  Castle  has  a  dead  kernel  within  its 
shell :  a  farm-house  which  seems  to  have  crept 
into  it  for  shelter,  and  there  died  for  want  of 
light,  overwhelmed  by  the  Castle  spirit.  The 
farmer  was  the  last  of  a  great  line  of  lords  and 
castellans.  Harry  Beaumont,  says  the  "  Brut," 
was  the  first  Norman  to  seize  on  the  place.  He 
built  a  rude  castle  of  sorts  here,  having  thrown 
out  the  sons  of  Caradoc  ap  lestyn,  at  the  time  of 
his  building  of  Swansea,  Llychwr,  and  Penrhys 
(where  Rhys  of  Caradoc  lost  his  head).  But  fifty 
years  later,  in  1150,  another  Rhys  came  and  his 
brother  Meredydd  with  him,  and  took  the  Castle 
and  burnt  it.  And  in  1215,  yet  another,  Rhys 
leuanc,  young  Rhys,  after  taking  Kidwelly  and 
Carnwillian,  took  all  the  Gower  castles  one  after 
another.  Leland  speaks  of  the  de  la  Meres  at 
Weobley,  but  he  is  confusing  them  with  the  house 
of  Sir  John  de  la  Bere. 

Llanrhidian,  finely  posted  on  the  rise  above  the 
marsh,  impresses  you  as  you  enter  it  from  below 
with  an  air  of  untold  antiquity,  supported  by  the 
two  Druidic-looking  stones,  one  of  them  a  Maen 
Hir,  near  the  approach  to  the  church. 

I  asked  a  farm  lad,  who  was  leading  a  frisky 
yearling  to  water,  what  the  stones  were  for. 

"  Well,  I've  heard  tell  the  Romans  used  to  whip 
their  slaves  at  one  of  them,"  he  said,  "and  you 
could  see  where  the  stapple  was." 

Clearly  enough,  the  stones  had  been  coupled  as 


THE   GOWER  COAST  203 

they  now  stand  within  recent  times  ;  but  there  is 
always  a  fragment  of  real  history  behind  these 
village  fables  ;  and  Llanrhidian  is  steeped  in  the 
quadruple  dye,  British,  Roman,  Welsh,  and 
Norman,  of  popular  tradition. 

In  the  churchyard  also  lie  two  separate  stones, 
which  since  the  church  was  once  dedicated  to  St. 
Illtyd  serve  to  urge  the  old  question  about  the 
number  of  Illtyd  churches  that  pass  under  other 
names.  On  the  high  ground  above  is  an  old 
camp,  "  Oil  Ivor,"  where  Ivor  ab  Cadivor  en- 
trenched himself  in  the  year  1110. 

At  high  tides  the  road  across  Llanrhidian  marsh 
to  Llanmorlais  is  covered.  It  looked  to  me,  when 
I  crossed  it,  as  if  it  were  never  thoroughly  dry. 
Old  cockleshell  mounds  and  tidal  posts  afford  the 
only  break  in  the  long  salt-flats.  The  sheep  that 
feed  there  seem  unusually  motionless  from  sym- 
pathy with  the  scene.  Except  for  an  occasional 
bleat,  a  railway  whistle  across  at  Llwchwr,  or 
the  whistle  of  snipe,  the  silence  is  melancholily 
complete. 

A  famous  City  of  Cockles  lies  two  miles  north 
of  Llanrhidian-Penclawdd.  One  day,  how  long 
ago  it  need  not  be  told,  I  reached  its  rambling 
street,  that  looked  as  if  it  would  wander  off  into 
the  sea- waste,  with  Davy  for  guide  ;  and  we  learnt 
from  an  old  standard  smoking  by  the  low  sea- 
wall that  the  "  works "  were  idle  and  the  place 
was  out  of  luck. 

"There  would  be  no  living,"  he  said,  "at  Pen- 
clawdd  save  for  the  Cocos ! "  He  pointed  to  a 
cottage.  "  That  house  there ;  eight,  ie  wir,  it  has 
eight  in  it,  and  John  he  hasn't  done  a  stroke  these 
months ! " 

A  little  later,  and  we  saw  the  straggling  troop 


204  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

of  cockle-women,  seven  or  eight  of  them,  the  tired 
wage-earners,  returning  bare-legged  with  their 
cockles  over  the  sandy  causeway.  The  eldest  of 
them  was  a  woman  of  about  sixty,  with  an 
anxious,  much- weathered,  whimsical  brown  visage 
under  her  cap.  The  youngest  was  one  of  the 
comeliest,  merriest-faced  young  girls  ever  seen. 
Her  bare  wet  feet,  flecked  with  seaweed,  gleamed 
in  the  sun  like  soft  ivory  as  she  halted  there. 
She  dropped  her  load  for  a  moment  on  the  sandy 
wall,  with  a  curious  gesture  as  of  part  relief  from 
the  weight,  part  pride  in  the  "  take  "  of  cockles. 

That  afternoon  was  spent  in  exploring  the  North 
Gower  stretches  and  hunting  with  Davy  for  "  old 
sto-ans ! "  But  in  the  evening  we  returned  to 
take  train  at  Llanmorlais.  The  next  station  was 
Penclawdd,  and  looking  out  of  the  window,  he 
directed  me  to  a  small  group  on  the  platform.  It 
was  the  younger  part  of  the  very  troop  of  cockle- 
pickers  we  had  seen  in  the  morning  by  the  strand. 
They  were  mightily  changed  now,  tricked  out  in 
their  best,  and  one  or  two  in  high  colours ;  and 
the  contrast  they  made  with  the  brown  bags  of 
cockles,  over  which  they  mounted  guard  on  a 
porter's  truck,  was  queer  enough.  But  one  of 
them,  whose  back  was  turned  to  us,  wore  a  plain 
grey  gown  and  dark  jacket.  It  was  not  until  the 
cockle-packs  in  bags  were  being  hoisted  into  the 
van  that  we  saw  her  face.  The  other  girls  care- 
lessly stood  by,  and  let  the  porters  do  the  work. 
But  she,  seeing  that  time  pressed,  seized  her  own 
bag  with  a  look  of  indescribable  pride  in  the 
grotesque  oozy  thing,  as  much  as  to  say,  "You 
are  mine  and  of  my  getting,  and  you  are  worth 
silver,  Cocos  fach  ! " 

As  the  train  moved  out  she  stood  gazing  after 


THE   GOWER  COAST 


205 


it  like  a  lover  after  her  beloved,  and  her  smile, 
lighting  up  her  eyes  in  the  station  gloom,  seemed 
to  make  her  face  luminous  against  the  shadows. 
Then  we  realised  we  had  had  in  this  vanishing 
apparition  of  the  lass  of  Penclawdd  a  glimpse  of 
one  of  those  faces  that,  once  seen,  whether  against 
a  railway  hoarding  or  a  salt-marsh,  are  because  of 
their  gleaming  lines — conductors  of  some  inner 
radiance — stamped  on  the  eye  of  a  mortal  man 
for  ever. 


OLD  OYSTEB-SHELL  LAMP,   00WER  COAST. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BURRY  INLET  AND  CARMARTHEN  BAY  —  CASTELL 
LLYCHWR  —  CWRT-Y-CARNAU  —  THE  GREAT 
BOAR  HUNT  IN  AMMAN  VALE 

AMONGST  the  minor  lazy  sensations  of  the  Welsh 
coast  that  help  a  man  to  realise  without  effort 
the  enormous  pushing  and  dilating  force  of  its 
spring-tides,  must  be  counted  that  of  standing  on 
Loughor  or  Llychwr  Bridge,  and  watching  the 
salt  water  pour  in  from  the  Burry  Inlet.  It  comes 
in  there  at  a  swimming  pace,  deep  ochre  or  light 
brown  in  colour,  covered  with  patches  of  seething 
froth  ;  and  the  timbers  and  piers  are  so  built  as 
to  give  the  eye  due  pleasure  in  matching  the 
resistant  baulks  and  timber  structure  against  the 
brimming  element. 

The  river  Llychwr,  that  swallows  the  salt  tide 
there,  is  not  a  long  one,  and  its  tidal  reach  is  brief, 
but  it  is  a  stream  worth  exploring  to  its  source, 
where  it  flows  clean  out  of  the  rock  at  Llygad 
Llychwr,  the  "  Eye  of  Loughor." 

Some  of  the  intervening  reaches  are  spoilt  now 
by  the  wilful  ugliness  of  the  industrial  communi- 
ties— mean  streets,  buildings  without  decency,  and 
poverty,  or  the  next  thing  to  it,  made  prim  in  a 
kind  of  dreadful  workhouse  uniform  of  fire-brick 
facings  and  mortar.  But  leave  these,  the  common 

206 


BURRY  INLET  AND  CARMARTHEN  BAY    207 

affliction  of  many  of  the  fairest  Welsh  valleys, 
and  you  escape  again  into  the  verdure  and  pas- 
toral extents  that  make  the  upper  Llwchwr  lands 
pleasant  in  the  gaze  of  Heaven. 

The  village  or  town  of  Lly-chwr,  for  the  place 
had  borough  rights  and  a  portreeve  and  burgesses 
with  coats  to  their  backs,  has  a  curious  name  in 
Welsh  tradition  —  Tre  Avanc  —  Beaver's  Town. 
Hence,  say  the  up-town  gossips,  the  place  used  to 
be  called  by  way  of  derision  "  Trewanc."  It 
figures  in  the  Roman  map  as  "  Leucrum  or 
Leucarum,"  the  last  big  halt  in  the  road  before 
Maridunum,  or  Carmarthen.  The  Castle  is  another 
of  those  reared  on  a  three  or  four-times  occupied 
site.  The  Britons  used  the  castle-tump  originally ; 
when  the  Normans  came,  Henry  Beaumont,  the 
first  great  Gower  advener,  is  said  to  have  built 
the  first  Norman  castle.  In  or  about  1115  the 
two  sons  of  Griffith  ab  Rhys  attacked,  stormed, 
and  destroyed  the  Castle  above  the  old  Beaver 
town,  Tre  Avanc  or  Trewanc. 

In  the  north  country  the  Conwy  was  the  chief 
river-haunt  of  the  "  Avanc " ;  but  the  Llychwr 
river-beast  was  possibly  less  fabulous.  The  sea 
has  won  great  vantage  on  the  land  here,  and  if 
we  look  for  the  original  Beaver  town  it  must  be 
below  bridge. 

Another  monster,  the  Twrch  Trwyth,  is  to  be 
tracked  here.  He  has  left  his  spoor  in  the  upper 
Llychwr  and  the  Amman  valley.  Sir  John  Rhys, 
in  his  Celtic  Folklore,  traces  this  Questing 
Beast  at  Clyn  Ystyn,  a  farm  between  Carmarthen 
and  the  waters-meet  of  the  Amman  and  Llychwr, 
and  thence  across  into  the  Llychwr  valley. 
Remembering  the  Gower  bone-caves,  one  cannot 
help  speculating  about  these  two  creatures,  and 


208  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

wondering  if  the  Twrch  Trwyth  and  the  "  Avanc  " 
are  not  in  Celtic  folk-lore  a  race-memory  of  the 
huge  brutes  that  perished  centuries  before  any 
Celtic  word  was  spoken  in  Britain?  As  time 
went,  the  tradition  may  have  been  tacked  on  to 
better-known  animals ;  and  the  wild  boar  and 
the  beaver  served  as  the  nearest  types  of  their 
mammoth  forefathers.  Those  who  have  known 
a  small  child  make  a  tiger  out  of  a  gib-cat  will  be 
at  no  loss  to  understand  the  process. 

One   need   not    insist   on   these   remote   events. 
But  there  are   places  in  South  Wales — sea-caves, 
waste  places   in  the  sands,  and  uncleared  forest 
brakes — that  inevitably  bring  the  primitive  fauna 
to  mind,  and  the  vale  of  Llychwr  and  the  sand- 
dunes    below    are    of    them.      One    unpropitious 
wintry  afternoon  I  alighted  at  Llychwr  in  a  rain- 
storm that  immediately  drove  me  into  cover  at 
an  old  inn.     The  landlord,  who  was  polishing  his 
brass   taps,   was   unluckily  a    new-comer    to    the 
place  and  knew  little  about  it.    However,  he  called 
in  a  serving-maid,  a  native  of  that  country-side, 
who  showed  the  painful  desire  to  be  exact  which 
one  so  often  finds,  in  contradiction  of  the  English 
idea   of   the  Welsh   peasant,   among   the   simpler 
country-folk  who  are  not  tourist-corrupted.     Mari 
Jones  stood  in   the  doorway,  two  or  three  steps 
above  the  level  of  the  common-room  of  the  ale- 
house ;   and  the  fire-shine  in  the  kitchen  behind 
tinged  her  brown  hair  and  cordially  framed  her 
in  a   glimmering   ruddy  umber  light.     The  figure 
made   an   inviting   contrast  to  the  cheerless  and 
fireless  chamber  where  I  stood   doubtfully  in  my 
damp   clothes.     She   had    been  as  far  as   Llygad 
Llychwr    and    firmly    believed    the    river   flowed 
thither  underground  from  the  smaller  Llyn-y-Van. 


BURRY  INLET  AND  CARMARTHEN  BAY    209 

Yes,  she  knew  Cwrt-y-Carnau  too  :  it  was  beyond 
Black  Hill  and  the  common — close  to  the  water ; 
there  used  to  be  a  church  there  and  a  place  for 
the  monks.  "  Tir  Brenin  "  was  hard  by.  She  had 
nothing  to  tell  me  of  the  "Sanctuary"  at  Loughor: 
but  folk  said  there  was  a  passage  underground 
from  Castell  Llychwr  to  the  old  church  at  Cwrt-y- 
Carnau.  Some  strange  tale  seems  to  be  attached 
to  this  house,  but  when  I  asked  her  about  it 
she  slightly  shook  her  head  (having  at  the  critical 
moment  heard  a  noise  within  the  kitchen)  and  so 
disappeared  through  the  door. 

A  night  or  two  later,  at  a  very  different  inn- 
keeper's hearth,  not  far  from  Ostremuere  Castle, 
I  asked  him  if  he  knew  Llychwr  ?  "  Yes,  yes ! " 
said  he,  "  but  you  should  go  and  see  Cwrt-y-Carnau ! 
That's  an  old  place  there — a  great  place  with 
great  histories ! "  He  offered  to  escort  me  there, 
but  fate  was  against  it,  and  Cwrt-y-Carnau  keeps 
its  secret  for  me. 

The  same  gossip  told  me  a  tale  about  the 
"knockers"  and  the  mysterious  Red  Dog  in  the 
under-sea  -workings  of  the  Morva  Colliery,  near 
Port  Talbot.  Some  of  the  colliers  saw  the  Red 
Dog  and  heard  the  knockers  one  night  and  took 
it  for  a  warning.  They  would  have  refused  to 
descend  the  pit  next  morning,  but  that  others 
who  had  heard  the  same  noises  and  stayed  at 
home,  had  been  fined  for  it  some  weeks  before.  So, 
after  a  midnight  discussion,  they  voted  for  going 
to  work ;  but  the  Red  Dog  was  justified,  for  many 
died  in  the  terrible  explosion  next  day. 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  the  Llychwr  and  its 
abrupt  source.  It  is  not  for  a  coast-book  to  delay 
over  such  tempting  inland  places  as  Cwrt  Bryn-y- 
Beirdd,  now  a  farm-house,  and  Capel  Dewi,  and 

14 


210  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

the  Druid  graves — Beddau  Derwyddon.  With 
three  delightful  companions,  two  of  them  children 
prepared  for  wonders,  I  last  went  in  dry  summer 
weather  to  the  Eye  of  Llychwr,  and  even  then 
the  water  flowing  out  of  the  rock,  although  not 
enough  to  float  a  boat,  as  commonly  said  of  it, 
would  have  floated  a  coracle.  The  Eye  had  lost 
some  of  its  old  miraculous  effect,  by  being  new- 
enclosed  in  a  smooth  dam  of  Portland  cement ; 
but  the  scene  on  that  wildish  moorland,  often  as 
I  have  visited  it,  always  looks  mysterious — a  spot 
to  keep  old,  and  beget  new,  legends.  The  Castle 
at  Carreg  Cennen,  the  sternest,  loneliest,  rockiest 
fastness  in  all  that  country,  rears  up  its  abutments 
and  sheer  towers  like  an  Oriental  stronghold  or 
castle  bewitched  on  its  grey  and  red  rock,  not 
two  miles  away ;  the  Black  Mountains,  filling  up 
the  northern  confines,  keep  a  gloom  which  even 
in  sunlight  is  never  lifted.  At  the  foot  of  the 
Castle  Rock  runs  another  stream,  the  Cennen, 
which  seems  plainly  destined  to  join  the  Llychwr ; 
but  it  goes  off  on  an  errand  of  its  own,  past 
Pont  Trapp  and  Derwydd,  to  join  the  Towy 
instead.  Four  miles  south  the  Amman  joins  the 
Llychwr  stream,  and  "by  here,"  as  David  says, 
came  the  Twrch  Trwyth  and  his  little  pigs  on 
the  famousest  boar  hunt  in  all  the  sagas.  You 
can  take  up  the  scent  there  at  its  hottest  in  the 
Mabinogion  : — 

"  And  the  huntsmen  went  to  hunt  the  Twrch 
Trwyth  as  far  as  Dyffryn  Lychwr.  And  two  of 
the  pigs,  Gold-haired  Heather-Hog  and  the  Grizzly 
Quester,  turned  on  the  hunters  and  killed  all  but 
one.  Then  Arthur  and  his  host  came  to  the  place 
where  Heather-Hog  and  Grizzly  were,  and  he  let 
loose  all  his  hounds  on  them ;  and  what  with  the 


BTJRRY  INLET  AND  CARMARTHEN  BAY    211 

hubbub  and  the  shouting  and  barking,  Twrch 
Trwyth  heard  them,  and  came  to  the  succour  of 
his  hard-pressed  pigs.  Until  that  time,  the  Twrch 
Trwyth  had  never  showed  himself  to  them,  not 
since  he  crossed  the  Irish  Sea.  But  now,  with  the 
men  and  the  hounds  set  upon  him,  he  started  off 
and  made  for  Amman  Hill  (Mynydd  Amanw).  And 
there  a  young  boar  of  his  was  killed.  It  was  life 
for  life  then,  and  first  one  young  boar  was  killed, 
then  another :  until  in  full  flight  the  Questing  Beast 
went  on  to  Amman  Valley,  where  he  lost  two 
more  of  his  train.  Of  all  his  pigs,  there  went  with 
him  alive  from  that  place  none  save  Golden-bristled 
Heather  Hog  and  Grizzly  Quester." 

The  hunt  goes  on  fast  and  mortal  then,  and 
Grizzly  Quester,  after  killing  many  at  Ystrad  Yw> 
including  Arthur's  uncles,  Red  Eyed  Emys  and 
Gwr-Bothu,  is  himself  hard  pressed.  The  Twrch 
Trwyth  himself  has  at  length  to  yield  up  the 
fabulous  jewelled  Razor  and  Scissors  in  the  Severn 
Flood  and  the  Golden  Comb  in  Cornwall,  whence 
he  is  driven  into  the  deep  sea.  And  thenceforth 
it  was  never  known  where  he  went.  This  great 
hunting  saga — of  the  Boar,  the  Razor,  Comb,  and 
Scissors — that  might  have  been  told  by  a  mediaeval 
barber-surgeon  of  genius  in  his  cups,  who  had 
drunk  deep  of  the  black  wine  of  Kilhwch,  takes 
a  new  tinge  of  local  colour  when  you  relate  the 
Great  Boar  to  the  twin  valleys  of  Llychwr  and 
Amman. 

On  a  placid  airless  summer  day  you  might  think 
the  flat,  sandy  shore  between  the  mouth  of  the 
Llychwr  and  the  Nose  of  Pembrey,  with  the  wave- 
less  ripple  of  the  ebb  tide  lapping  it,  one  of  the 
most  innocent  coasts  to  be  had  by  any  water. 
But  when  sailing-ships  were  plentiful  the  bay 


212  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

and  estuary  often  made  havoc  of  those  that  went 
astray  in  the  Burry  Inlet.  The  corner  at  "  Cefn 
Sidan,"  the  Silken  Ridge,  was  the  most  deadly 
spot.  In  1828  it  sent  some  notable  French  victims 
to  their  deaths.  That  November  a  West  Indiaman 
that  had  come  safe  all  the  way  from  Martinique 
was  wrecked  on  Cefn  Sidan,  and  most  of  the  crew 
and  passengers  perished.  Among  the  latter  were 
Colonel  Coquelin  and  his  daughter  Adeline,  niece 
of  Josephine,  former  Empress  of  France.  Father 
and  daughter  were  buried  at  Pembrey  in  one 
grave  ;  and  fourteen  maidens  in  deep  mourning, 
as  Pembrey  folk  still  tell  you,  attended  the  funeral 
as  pall-bearers  to  the  drowned  girl.  In  the  church- 
yard the  stone  may  be  seen  which  Welsh  pity 
raised  in  memory  of  the  French  colonel  and  his 
child. 

The  Castle  at  Llychwr  suffered  by  being  near 
the  uplands,  and  it  was  often  attacked  and  thrice 
surprised.  Harry  Beaumont's  first  ruder  struc- 
ture was  taken  by  Meredith  and  Rhys,  of  whom 
you  heard  at  Weobley.  It  was  rebuilt  then,  as 
custom  was,  on  a  more  habitable  scale  ;  but  only 
to  be  again  besieged,  taken,  and  burnt  to  the 
ground. 

Curiously  enough,  when  fifty  years  later  Gerald 
de  Barri  passed  this  way  with  Archbishop  Baldwin, 
he  made  no  note  of  any  castle,  though  he  speaks 
of  crossing  the  river.  It  was,  no  doubt,  in  ruins 
then.  The  present  structure  is  part  early  thirteenth 
and  part  fourteenth  century,  according  to  W.  G. 
Clark,  the  greatest  castle-hunter  who  invaded  this 
district.  Before  we  left  the  earlier  sieges  we  might 
have  quoted  the  "  Brut  of  the  Princes,"  which 
tells  how  Rhys  leaunc,  or  Young  Rhys,  collected 
in  1215  an  army  of  huge  size — "  lu  dirvawr  y  veint" 


BURRY  INLET  AND  CARMARTHEN  BAY    213 

— and  brought  the  Castle  low.  "And  from  thence 
he  drew  toward  Gower,  and  first  reduced  Castell 
Llychwr."  This  suggests  that  it  was  the  northern 
outpost  of  the  Gower  circuit — the  key  to  the 
door. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LLANELLY — ST.  ELLI  —  THE  OLD  TOWN — THE 
SANDS  OF  PEMBBEY — KIDWELLY  AND  ITS 
CASTLE 

LLANELLY,  black-a-vised,  smoky,  and  unlovely,  one 
of  those  towns  that  at  first  appear  only  destined 
to  make  wealth  for  the  rich  and  poverty  for  the 
poor,  does  not  attract  the  flying  tourist.  However, 
the  town,  despite  its  grime  and  its  grime-producers, 
has  its  associations.  Unexpectedly,  it  is  one  of 
the  few  places  in  Wales  that  can  claim  to  have 
entertained  George  Meredith.  The  house  where 
he  stayed  was  afterwards  occupied  by  the  Welsh 
lyric  poet  "  Elved " ;  and  there,  one  winter  night, 
during  a  visit  some  years  ago,  the  present 
chronicler  made  acquaintance  with  another  Car- 
marthen poet,  the  late  Watcyn  Wyn,  an  Eistedd- 
fodwr  without  guile  and  an  incorrigible  wit.  At 
the  Cardiff  Eisteddfod  of  1896,  when  the  sun  was 
pouring  down  like  a  furnace,  Watcyn  was  en- 
countered as  he  emerged  from  the  crowded 
Pavilion. 

"  Sut  mae,  Watcyn?  'Tis  very  hot — mae  hi  yn 
boeth  iawn  !  Is  the  muse  melting  ?" 

"  Melting  ?  Dyn  anw'l !  There's  enough  of 
Watcyn  lost  to  make  a  third-rate  bard." 

Many  of  Watcyn's  songs  and  ballads  deal  with 

BI 


LLANELLY  215 

the  country  round  his  own  centre  of  Ammanf  ord. 
His  prose  was  as  idiomatic  as  his  verse. 

Castle-hunters  differ  about  the  lost  Castle  of 
Llanelly.  Probably  it  was  only  a  British  fort  on 
the  mound  known  as  Pen  Castell,  now  eaten  up 
by  the  town.  G.  and  I  made  an  attempt  to  place 
the  site,  acting  on  the  directions  given  us  by  a 
native.  He  bade  us  look  in  the  empty  markets, 
it  not  being  market-day.  We  discovered,  or 
thought  we  did,  in  which  vacant  alley  of  the 
market  the  gateway  stood.  But  an  uneasy  idea 
afterwards  occurred  to  us  that  the  Honourable 
Cymmrodor  who  had  pictured  it  for  us  had  done 
so  in  a  pleasant  spirit  of  "  Hud  a  Lledrith."  * 
However,  if  the  Castle  is  lost,  there  is  still  the 
old  Stepney  mansion,  "  Great  House "  (now  called 
Llanelly  House),  to  fall  back  upon.  It  was  in  a 
bad  way  when  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  it  was  taken  in  hand  and  saved  to  the 
town ;  and  its  restorer,  William  Chambers  of 
Bicknor,  also  built,  I  believe,  the  market-house. 
The  original  church  at  Llanelly  was  St.  Elli's 
(hence  the  name  of  the  town).  The  present  build- 
ing was,  because  of  its  additional  mid  bell-tower, 
which  has  been  spirited  away  by  vandals,  of  un- 
usual design.  Mr.  Arthur  Mee  has  written  its 
history  (it  is  dedicated  to  St.  Paul,  not  St.  Elli) 
with  that  affection  which  gives  warmth  to  the 
parish  record.  There  is  another  book  on  the  old 
town  by  a  native,  Mr.  Innes,  which  is  crammed 
with  the  little  disappearing  local  details  and  the 
local  colour  needed  to  individualise  a  place.  He 
has,  among  the  records,  an  account  of  Llanelly 
Bridge  ;  and,  as  we  know,  bridges  and  rivers  and 
abers  become  things  of  moment  to  the  Welsh 

*  Illusion  and  Art  Magic. 


216  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

wayfarer.  Over  it  the  town-seer  makes  you  see, 
as  in  an  allegory  of  life,  the  pageant  of  old 
Llanelly — the  coach  with  dusty  horses,  presently 
to  be  unharnessed  and  sent  to  swim  in  the  bridge- 
pools  ;  the  soldiers  marching  against  "  Rebecca " ; 
and  the  funeral  bier  of  Sir  John  Stepney,  the  coffin 
covered  with  a  scarlet  pall. 

South  of  the  town,  beyond  the  docks,  on  a  sandy 
peninsula,  lies  a  solitary  farm-house  with  a  long 
memory.  Its  name,  Mach  Ynys,  is  doubtfully 
said  to  be  corrupted  from  Mynach  Ynys,  or 
Mynachdy-yn-Ynys(?).  Here  some  have  figured 
an  early  monastery  on  the  strand,  that  was 
founded  by  St.  Peiro,  who  was  followed  by  that 
same  Sampson  whose  pillar  we  saw  at  Llaritwit. 

Over  St.  Elli,  too,  there  is  an  old  dispute — to  wit, 
whether  the  mysterious  child  of  a  barren  Queen 
in  the  unknown  Isles  of  Grimbul,  that  Cadoc 
brought  from  oversea,  was  boy  or  girl  ?  However, 
Elli  appears  to  have  decided,  when  the  day  came, 
to  be  a  boy.  His  sanctity,  after  his  death,  grew 
greater  and  greater.  The  Holy  Wells  of  St.  Elli 
— "  Ff yiinonau  Elli " — were  better  known  than  any 
at  Llandrindod,  Builth,  and  otherwhere ;  and  one 
man  told  Fenton  he  had  seen  "  seven  parishes 
meet  at  the  Mab  Sant,"  or  wake  of  St.  Elli,  on 
January  17th. 

Long  afterwards  the  greater  tradition  of  the 
Welsh  pulpit  was  well  carried  on  here  by  the 
eloquence  of  David  Rees  of  "  Capel  Als."  People  tra- 
velled from  a  long  way  at  times,  as  I  have  gathered 
from  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather  (who  lived  at 
Carmarthen),  to  hear  David  Rees.  One  of  the 
most  remarkable  traces  of  the  old  church-plays 
on  record  anywhere  is  to  be  found  in  the  accounts 
of  his  early  preaching.  David  used  to  carry  with 


LLANELLY  217 

him  into  the  pulpit  little  biblical  puppets — that  is, 
wooden  figures  dressed  to  represent  some  of  the 
Old  Testament  characters — and  he  made  them  go 
through  a  brief  interlude  during  his  sermon.  By 
lending  them  dramatic  life,  and  vividly  impersona- 
ting and  differentiating  them  in  his  play  of  voice 
and  gesture,  he  so  enlivened  his  Mystery  that  the 
illusion  he  created  and  threw  over  his  congregation 
was  absolute.  But  after  a  time  it  came  to  be 
thought  indecorous  to  use  such  aids  to  doctrine, 
and  it  was  given  up.  The  old  habit  of  the  Welsh 
pulpit,  however,  could  not  be  killed  out  in  a  year 
of  respectable  Sundays.  Only  now  is  it  giving 
way  in  other  characteristics  under  the  Anglicising, 
depolarising  effect  of  the  colleges  and  newspapers. 

But  now,  to  travel  on  to  Kidwelly,  via  Pembrey 
and  Burry  Port.  The  railway  after  leaving 
Llanelly  skirts  the  sandy  estuary  of  Cefn  Patrick 
in  a  half  amphibious  engaging  fashion.  At  spring- 
tides the  sea  laps  against  the  railway  embankment, 
until  you  seem  to  be  running  through  deep  water. 
Whether  Patrick  once  sailed  in  a  curragh  or 
coracle  over  these  sandy  shallows,  I  do  not  know  ; 
but  the  Saints  had  a  mariner's  trust  in  the  water. 
It  was  their  via  media  between  the  Celtic  shores, 
Irish,  Cornish,  Breton,  and  Welsh. 

One  veteran  apostle  I  do  remember  by  the  Burry 
water-side,  a  London  physician,  the  late  Dr. 
George  Bird,  friend  of  Leigh  Hunt,  Swinburne, 
and  Sir  Richard  Burton,  the  traveller,  rechristened 
by  one  of  his  friends  "  the  Apostle  of  Health."  It 
was  on  a  summer's  evening,  and  riding  sharp 
round  a  sandy  spur  on  a  bicycle,  I  came  full  tilt 
upon  a  little  group  of  people,  "  beautiful  women 
and  radiant  men,"  and  this  noble  old  man  sitting 
in  their  midst.  If  St.  Patrick  ever  sat  by  that 


218  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

water  with  an  equal  lustre  and  personal  radiance, 
it  is  no  wonder  if  legends  multiplied  about  him. 

The  constantly  growing  and  multiplying  sands 
of  this  estuary  make  a  Sahara  of  the  coast-line 
between  Pembrey  and  Llanelly.  It  continues 
about  six  miles  beyond  the  "  Nose,"  over  Pembrey 
Burrows  and  Towyn  Burrows  to  Towyn  Point. 
Beyond  the  end  of  it,  at  low  tide,  lie  Cefn  Sidan 
sands,  two  or  three  miles  more.  Here  they  say 
once  stood  a  fair  city.  Traces  of  foundations  of 
walls  and  stubborn  roots  of  trees  are  still  to  be 
seen,  at  unwonted  low  tides,  especially  after  a 
heavy  freshet  in  the  Towy.  How  far  the  lost  city 
may  be  traced  to  notions  of  the  washed-away 
village  of  Hawton,  which  is  shown  in  Saxton's  and 
Speed's  maps  of  the  county,  it  would  be  hard  to 
tell.  Hawton  lay,  however,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Gwendraeth,  under  St.  Ishmael's. 

Coasting  vessels  long  had  a  very  warrantable 
dread  of  the  treacherous  sand-bay  into  which  flow 
the  Gwendraeth,  Towy,  and  Taf  Rivers.  It  is  hard 
to  get  even  a  small  yacht  through  the  sands  up  to 
Kidwelly  ;  for  you  have  a  snaky  track  to  negotiate 
that  is  only  seen  for  what  it  really  is  at  low  water. 
The  navigable  way  is  bare  half  a  cable  in  width, 
and  on  either  side,  at  flood,  there  is  about  three 
feet  of  water  over  the  sand.  "Nothing  bigger 
than  a  coal  barge,"  says  the  Complete  Sailor, 
"  should  try  to  make  Kidwelly ! " 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE  TOWY  AND  FERRYSIDE — LLANSTEPHAN  CASTLE 
—  ST.    ISHMAEL'S    AND    THE   LOST    TOWN   OF 

HAWTON 

FOUR  rivers  have  their  aber  in  the  inlet  of  Car- 
marthen Bay,  watched  by  St.  Ishmael's  Church  on 
one  side  and  Llanstephan  Castle  on  the  other — the 
two  Gwendraeths,  the  Towy  and  the  Taf .  Of  these 
the  Towy  is  a  great  stream  ;  indeed,  there  is  none 
in  Wales,  wild  or  sober,  fairer  in  variety,  richer  in 
memory.  The  other  rivers  are  tributary  to  it.  To 
quote  Leland,  "  Tave  semith  to  cumme  at  full  sea 
to  the  mouth  of  Towe  River,  but  at  low  water 
marke  a  man  may  perceive  how  it  ha(steth)  to  the 
se  on  the  sandis  hard  by  Towe." 

In  fact,  this  triple  inlet,  shaped  rudely  like  a 
starfish  with  three  curved  limbs  pretty  visible,  the 
fourth  and  fifth  being  lost  in  sand  and  water 
between  Cefn  Sidan  and  Laugharne  sands,  con- 
tracts and  dilates  in  a  surprising  way  with  the  ebb 
and  flow.  Looking  from  Ferryside  or  from  St. 
Ishmael's  at  low  water,  you  gaze  upon  miles  on 
miles  of  sand.  Then  at  times  with  a  strong  south- 
west wind  behind,  the  tide  comes  up  at  a  gallop 
and  fairly  races  along  the  railway  embankment. 
At  spring-tides  you  meet  it  unexpectedly  in  the 
shape  of  frothy  waves  under  the  sandy  railway 

219 


220  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

arch,  where  the  sand  has  been  dry  and  the  bits  of 
seaweed  have  been  brittle  for  weeks  before  ;  and 
I  have  seen  it  flow  on  and  turn  the  high-road 
within  and  below  the  railway  bank  into  a  river. 
If  you  have  been  tempted  out  at  low-water  a  mile 
or  two  on  the  beach  where  the  cockle-pickers  go, 
you  may  have  to  use  strategy  and  skirt  shoal- 
water  to  get  safe  home.  In  good  aspects  of  the 
sun  these  tidal  sand-deserts  have  a  quite  beautiful 
light  bright  colouring,  with  a  dancing  kind  of 
radiance  that  suggests  a  mirage  and  some  lost 
town  like  Hawton  quivering  in  middle-air  with 
more  roofs  and  pinnacles  than  ever  it  had  of  old. 

To  the  inbound  mariner  these  sands,  beloved  of 
small  boys,  cockles,  and  flatfish  are  a  bother  and  a 
danger.  If  his  schooner  escape  Cefn  Sidan  it  may 
get  sand-bogged  at  Warley  Point.  Hear  the  Com- 
plete Sailor's  warning :  "  No  vessel  should  try  to 
make  Laugharne  or  Carmarthen  without  a  pilot." 
And  again,  speaking  particularly  of  the  Towy : 
"  To  take  a  vessel  four  or  five  miles  through  an 
invisible  channel  not  more  than  three  cables  wide, 
Avith  a  tide  running  four  or  five  knots,  and  break- 
ing sea  on  either  side,  can  only  be  done  by  an  old 
hand." 

One  afternoon,  with  a  blue-and-white  sky,  the 
wind  nor'-westerly,  and  the  tide  swimming  in 
broad  and  strong,  we  hired  a  sailing-boat,  and 
tacked  out  into  the  bay,  seeing  Llanstephan  Castle 
and  the  dark  waterside  wood  and  Lord's  Park 
slide  away  from  us  like  a  dream.  As  we  sailed  on, 
we  saw  an  infinite  number  of  jellyfish — pale  blue, 
purple,  orange,  white — like  globes  of  submerged 
light,  deep  in  the  water.  Our  bare-legged  boat- 
man had  humorous  blue  eyes  and  a  face  brown  as 
an  Arab's.  He  told  us,  in  reply  to  such  idle  ques- 


THE  TOWY  AND  FERRYSIDE         221 

tions  as  landsmen  ask,  how  three  whales  once 
came  into  Carmarthen  Bay,  and  a  tale  his  father 
had  of  a  foreign  ship,  the  Stadveldt,  wrecked  on 
Carmarthen  Bar,  and  five  hands  drowned.  He 
much  preferred,  however,  to-  talk  of  the  cockle- 
women  of  a  certain  Cockletown,  and  their  habits. 
He  laughed  slily  as  he  told  us  they  were  very 
angry  if  their  men  did  a  stroke  of  work  beyond 
cooking  the  dinner  ;  and  on  Sunday  they  went  to 
chapel  like  ladies,  in  silk  and  satin,  with  big  gold 
brooches  and  great  jewelled  earrings  to  deck  them 
out.  He  said  "  Tref-y-Cocos  "  had  laws  of  its  own ; 
and  the  people  were  so  clannish,  they  never  married 
out  of  their  tribe.  Some  other  hearsay  reports  he 
gave  us  of  their  marriage  customs,  which  sounded 
like  a  bit  of  Herodotus.  Evidently  "  Tref-y-Cocos," 
which  you  will  not  find  on  the  map,  is  a  place 
apart,  where  the  cockle-shell  middens  entrench  a 
set  of  inhabitants  who  are  not  Welsh,  Flemish,  or 
English,  but  simply  "  Pobl-y-Cocos  " — cockle-folk, 
primitives. 

Although  the  open  country  about  Ferryside  is  a 
little  bare  and  monotonous,  it  is  broken  near  the 
sea  by  typical  Carmarthenshire  cwms  and  small 
valleys.  Of  these  you  have  a  good  instance  in 
Melin  Cwm,  beyond  Ystrad  Bridge  on  the  Carmar- 
then road.  The  road  up  the  cwm  diverges  on  the 
left  from  the  main  road,  and  leads  past  a  mill  and 
an  old-style  wayside  inn,  and  so  to  Iscoed  Park. 
A  Maen-llwyd  stands  in  the  park  above.  This  road 
goes  on  to  Llandefeilog,  one  of  the  true  old-style 
Welsh  agricultural  villages.  Several  of  the 
Llandefeilog  farm-houses,  e.g.,  Nant  y  Llan,  which 
formed  part  of  the  monastery,  are  very  well  worth 
examining.  An  old  fishing-weir  was  formerly  held 
by  the  lord  of  the  manor,  and  the  villagers  were 


222  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

allowed  its  use.  The  church,  dedicated  to  St. 
Maelog,  is  ten  centuries  old,  and  even  the 
Methodists  have  a  chapel  (formerly  belonging  to 
the  Established  Church)  which  dates  from  the 
fourteenth  century.  About  a  mile  from  the  village 
is  an  old  eye-well,  on  a  tenement  called  Pistyll,  in 
the  lordship  of  Cloigin. 

Ferryside  has  no  popular  antiquities  :  even  its 
church — a  chapel-of-ease  to  St.  Ishmael,  built  in 
1828,  rebuilt  in  1875 — is  new.  Yet  it  has  its  tradi- 
tions. It  used  for  a  time  to  be  known  as  St. 
Thomas's,  because  the  church  is  so  dedicated ;  but 
its  real  past  is  bound  up  with  St.  Ishmael's,  where 
you  still  hear  stories  of  the  wreckers  who  watched 
Cefn  Sidan  sands  like  wolves,  or  of  the  old  village 
of  Hawton,  and  its  foundation-walls  seen  at  low 
tide.  Hawton,  it  is  said,  was  originally  defended 
from  the  sea  and  the  sea-sand  by  a  range  of 
burrows  which  gradually  gave  way  before  wind 
and  water,  till  at  last,  at  some  desperate  inunda- 
tion, the  village  was  devastated. 

Dangerous  as  it  may  appear  to  strangers,  the 
cockle-pickers  of  Ferryside  and  Llansaint  at  the 
ebb  tide  treat  the  farthest  stretches  of  the  wet 
sands,  a  mile  or  more  out,  like  honest  terra  firma. 
They  and  their  carts  may  be  seen  for  long  hours  at 
their  cockle-picking.  Indeed,  one  recalls  the  stoop- 
ing forms  of  the  cockle- women,  minutely  outlined 
on  the  pale,  shimmering,  sandy  levels  where  the 
kittiwakes  run  and  whistle,  as  a  constant  part  of 
the  picture.  These  cockle-women  are  a  stout, 
hard-working,  and  exclusive  folk,  who  hold  dear 
their  privileges  and  the  old  customs  of  the  cockle- 
grounds.  Their  mouths  are  full  of  Welsh  proverbs 
and  scraps  of  folk-lore ;  and  Llansaint  is  their 
metropolis,  a  pure  village  of  cockle-pickers.  St. 


THE  TOWY  AND  FERRYSIDE         223 

Ishmael's  in  the  old  days  was  their  cathedral ;  it  is 
a  rude,  impressive  structure,  curiously  expressing 
the  place  where  it  stands.  The  interior  is  like 
some  profound  ecclesiastical  crypt  or  cavern, 
sombre  and  austere  to  a  degree  ;  on  a  hot  summer's 
day  its  coolness  is  delicious.  The  parish  register 
goes  back  to  1561,  and  contains  some  incidental 
entries  as  to  great  storms  and  loss  of  shipping  on 
the  26th  and  27th  of  November,  1703,  and  the 
corn-famine  in  1597,  which  are  of  extra-parochial 
interest. 

A  railway-crossing  will  be  found  leading  to  the 
sands  a  little  below  St.  Ishmael's  Church  ;  and  one 
can  return  by  the  sands  when  the  tide  is  out 
instead  of  keeping  to  the  high-road.  You  pass 
on  the  way  a  piece  of  aboriginal  architecture  in 
the  Cockle  Rock — so  called,  we  were  told  by  a 
smiling  lassie,  "  because  cockles  cannot  climb  it ! " 

If  you  are  stationed  at  Ferryside,  Llanstephan 
Castle  becomes  your  one  inevitable  landmark  and 
neighbourly  sentinel  across  the  water.  You  never 
tire  of  the  rude  coronal  it  makes  on  that  shapely 
hill.  It  draws  you  imperceptibly  back  into  the 
Middle  Ages,  when  every  castle  held  its  castlery 
at  its  peril,  when  the  "Fair  Family,"  the 
"  Tylwyth  Teg,"  still  lived  in  the  woods  about 
Laques,  and  when  Merlin  himself  was  still  rein- 
carnating himself  in  the  spirits  of  the  Welsh 
poets,  who  wished  to  prophesy  the  return  of 
Arthur  or  Owain  Lawgoch,  or  the  fall  of  London. 

Approaching  the  Vale  as  the  Normans  originally 
did,  we  perceive  how  well  Llanstephan  Castle  was 
posted  (three  hundred  feet  above  sea-level,  or 
two  hundred  feet  higher  than  Kidwelly  Castle)  to 
command  the  mouth  of  the  Towy  and  the  sur- 
rounding lands.  Not  much  of  the  real  interior, 


224  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

despite  its  commanding  proportions  as  seen  from 
below,  remains  but  the  outer  walls  or  curtains 
between  the  towers,  the  gate-tower,  the  keep, 
and  some  of  the  vaulted  chambers  in  its  base- 
ment. Compare  it  with  Kidwelly,  and  you 
realise  how  much  has  perished  through  the  wear 
and  tear  of  time  and  no  doubt  the  free  quarry- 
ing of  its  stone  for  building  farm  walls  and  folds. 
The  view  is  an  enchanting  one  from  the  top  of 
the  keep — whose  staircase,  though  broken,  is  still 
available — or  from  the  western  walls,  which  do 
not  rise  insurmountably  above  the  ground-level 
of  the  Castle-close.  Ferryside  and  St.  Ishmael's 
and  the  high  grounds  above  define  the  old  region 
of  Llangyndeyrn,  across  which  the  Welshmen 
once  swept  in  force  to  harry  the  deer  of 
Kidwelly  and  besiege  the  Castle. 

According  to  Welsh  tradition,  the  first  stone 
castle  on  this  site  was  founded  by  Uchtred,  a 
Welsh  lord  in  the  early  Norman  days  ;  but  the 
hill  was  probably  stockaded  centuries  before  the 
Normans  fought  and  built  their  way  into  the 
country.  Having  got  to  Kidwelly,  they  must 
have  seen  at  once  the  strategic  value  of  Llan- 
stephan.  The  first  Norman  castle  may  have  been 
only  a  palisaded  tower,  strengthening  the  main 
point  of  an  earlier  earth-fort.  It  was  not  until 
the  time  of  the  Barons  de  Loiidres  that  it  gained 
its  completer  form,  as  shown  by  the  present  ruins. 
In  1143,  the  three  bold  sons  of  the  lord  of  Towy, 
Griffith  ap  Rhys,  Cadell,  Meredydd  and  Rhys,  who 
had  grown  practised  in  upsetting  the  Norman 
chess-board,  made  a  determined  attack  on  the 
Towy  strongholds.  Carmarthen  Castle  taken, 
they  marched  south,  leaving  Rhys-y-Gors  alone 
for  some  reason,  and  beset  Llanstephan  by  night. 


THE  TOWY  AND  FERRYSIDE         225 

The  Normans  could  easily  convey  a  signal  to  the 
garrison  at  Kidwelly.  At  any  rate,  a  strong  force 
advanced  from  the  east,  and  crossing  the  Towy 
attacked  the  besiegers.  But  the  three  sons  of 
Griffith  ap  Rhys  beat  off  this  counter-attack,  and 
then  took  the  Castle. 

St.  Anthony's  Well  may  be  reached  in  the  dip 
on  the  south-west  side  of  the  Castle  by  the  path 
that  skirts  the  foot  of  the  Castle  Hill,  hugging 
the  steep  brink  above  the  beach.  The  Well  has 
preserved,  for  a  wonder,  the  old  stone-work  and 
the  niche  where  the  Saint's  figure  stood.  The 
water  used  to  be  thought  of  sure  and  miraculous 
effect,  and  is  still  used  by  the  country-folk  for 
eye-complaint.  A  pin,  or  some  equivalent,  had 
to  be  dropped  in  the  water  by  the  sick  visitor. 
A  pin  is  nothing  to  us ;  but  think  of  the  far-come 
pilgrim  kneeling  there  and  praying  in  the  time 
when  a  pin  was  an  old  country  woman's  precious 
thing. 

From  St.  Anthony's  Well  the  path  carries  one 
onward  to  the  slopes  of  Parc-yr-Arglwydd,  the 
next  hill,  southward  and  seaward  to  that  on  which 
the  Castle  is  posted.  This  affords  a  finer  sea- 
outlook  than  the  Castle  Hill.  But  the  best  high 
pitch  in  the  neighbourhood  is  on  the  road 
to  Llanybri,  a  village  situate  two  miles  inland 
and  north-west  of  Llanstephan,  nearly  five-hun- 
dred feet  above  sea-level,  which  has  a  small 
modern  church,  erected  by  the  family  of  Laques. 
The  old  house,  called  "  Laques "  (pron.  "  Lax  "), 
mentioned  by  Drysdale,  was  a  seat  of  the  same 
Lloyds  that  lived  at  the  Plas  for  so  many  cen- 
turies. They  gave  up  the  Plas  when  Sir  William 
Hamilton  became  owner  there.  The  old  "Plas" 
was  on  another  site,  a  little  lower  than  the 

15 


226  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

present  house.  As  you  look  at  the  fair  sur- 
roundings of  the  Plas  at  Llanstephan  you  can 
recall  the  figure  of  Nelson,  who  was  a  guest  there 
of  the  Hamiltons.  On  one  occasion  he  and  Lady 
Hamilton  drove  into  Carmarthen  to  see  Edmund 
Kean  play  at  the  small  theatre  in  the  town. 
The  physician,  Sir  John  Williams,  who  lived  until 
lately  there,  collected  at  the  Plas  a  noble  library 
destined  by  him  for  the  nation,  which  has  gone 
to  the  National  Library  at  Aberystwyth. 

Llanstephan  is  noted  for  its  sweet  chime. 
Thirty  or  forty  years  ago  an  amiable  visitor, 
Mary  Curtis,  described  the  church :  "  In  the 
north  transept  is  an  aperture  closed  in ;  from 
its  looking  directly  to  the  altar,  it  must  be  a 
hagioscope.  Through  this,  in  Romish  times,  those 
who  sat  in  the  transept  could  see  the  priest  at 
the  altar  and  the  holy  things.  Squenches  is  a 
name  sometimes  given  to  these  apertures,  but  it 
is  not  the  proper  word.  Where  the  vestry  is  now 
was  a  large  door  before  the  restoration  of  the 
church,  though  which  the  coffin  was  conveyed 
to  the  place  of  burial.  On  the  north  side  of  the 
altar  are  the  ancient  tombs  of  the  Lloyds,  of 
Laques,  and  of  the  Meares  family,  in  a  sort  of 
aisle,  which  was  once  distinct  from  the  church." 

The  same  writer  tells  us,  too,  of  the  "very  ancient 
house  called  '  Plas  Brych,'  Bryd  or  Brodyr,  said 
to  have  been  the  residence  of  monks." 

When  we  were  youngsters,  the  eight-mile  jaunt 
by  road  from  Carmarthen  to  Llanstephan  was  a 
recognised  holiday  adventure.  The  village  inns 
then,  I  remember,  would  be  surrounded  by  a 
motley  collection  of  vehicles ;  while  inside  tea 
and  cockles  and  other  mightier  viands  supplied 
continual  relays  of  feasters,  who  set  off  home 


THE  TOWY  AND  FERRYSIDE         227 

in    the    evening   part  singing    along    the    darker 
roads,  or  listening  to  a  treble-voice — 

"Dos  di  ati,  dywed  wrthi, 
Mod  i'n  wylo'r  dwr  yn  heli." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  TOWN  OF  CARMARTHEN — A  CLARE   CASTLE — 
MERLIN'S  TREE — DICK  STEELE 

As  you  can  sail  up  the  Towy  lazily  to  Carmarthen 
quay  in  a  coasting-vessel,  wind  and  tide  favouring, 
you  may  add  the  town  fairly  to  your  Welsh  coast 
route.  It  lies  about  eight  miles  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Towy,  on  whose  north  bank  it  is  grouped 
above  the  meadows  like  a  demurer  garden  city, 
with  more  white  and  brown  and  grey  about  it 
than  the  very  red  red-brick  now  favoured  by  the 
urban  builder.  If  only  the  Castle  had  not  been 
so  amerced  by  time,  the  town,  standing  over  the 
river,  as  it  does,  would  still  have  some  signs  of  a 
tower-crowned  mediaeval  front  to  present  to  the 
wayfarer  approaching  by  the  old  bridge.  You 
may  judge  of  the  effect  it  had  when  Dick  Steele 
retired  here  to  end  his  days  from  the  queer  print 
by  Bucke  reproduced  (see  p.  230). 

In  Carmarthen  it  fell  to  the  present  writer 
to  spend  several  of  his  early  years,  beside  many 
intermitted  months  afterwards,  when  the  town 
was  the  base  for  holiday  expeditions.  During 
part  of  the  time  we  lived  in  a  spacious  old  house 
in  Nott  Square,  which  had  been  a  bishop's  palace. 
The  house  had  an  individuality  which  had  sur- 
vived the  modernising  of  its  street-front.  Under- 


THE  TOWN  OF  CARMARTHEN        229 

neath  it  was  the  undoubted  crypt  of  a  chapel 
of  Edward  IV.'s  time,  and  in  a  deeper  niche  was 
a  well  which  was  served  with  a  chain  as  I 
remember  it,  and  which  we  believed  to  be  bottom- 
less. It  was  positively  a  house  to  favour  the 
romantic  faculty,  and  our  maids  dreamed 
dreams  and  told  tales.  Acres  of  attics,  opening 
on  a  roof  with  a  scrambling  path  on  the  leads, 
helped  to  give  effect  to  the  legend  of  a  bishop 
told  by  one  old  servant,  Hannah.  According  to 
Hannah,  one  of  the  bishops  who  lived  here  was 
a  bad  wicked  man  ;  and  he  had  a  wife,  although 
it  was  forbidden  priests  to  wed  ;  so  he  hid  her 
in  the  attics,  where,  poor  lady,  afraid  both  of 
her  husband  and  his  enemies,  she  made  away 
with  herself.  The  story,  whether  authentic  or 
not,  left  us  afraid  of  dark  cupboards  and  passages 
as  the  day  went.  We  half-feared  to  see  the 
bishop's  white  lady,  as  she  had  been  described 
to  us,  appear  in  her  night-dress  carrying  the  rope 
with  which  she  hanged  herself. 

The  town  was  very  poorly  lit  in  those  days, 
with  dim  and  infrequent  street-lamps.  But  their 
flame,  such  as  it  was,  had  a  deep  orange  colour 
which  accorded  well  with  the  evening  greys  and 
umbers.  One  lamp  stood  nearly  at  our  door, 
and  looking  up,  it  cast  the  dappled,  wavering 
pattern  of  the  tall  drawing-room  windows  upon 
the  ceiling  and  gold  cornice  with  an  effect  that 
was  both  disturbing  and  enchanting  to  our  fancies. 
Through  that  pale  reflected  other-window  we 
looked  into  we  knew  not  what — some  other 
town  with  other  people,  paler  and  fainter  than 
the  real  men  and  women.  Another  lamp  guarded 
the  corner  of  the  square  where  a  narrow  street 
led  to  the  inbuilt  entrance  and  hidden  gateway 


230  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

of  the  Castle,  blocked  by  mean  roofs,  houses,  and 
market-inns.  This  narrow  street,  as  it  twisted 
its  way  down  to  the  quay,  clung  close  to  the 
Castle  walls.  At  the  quay  usually  lay  two  or  three 
of  the  coasting-vessels  that  brought  coal  and 
timber  to  the  town,  moored  below  the  bridge. 
The  Castle,  I  grieve  to  say,  had  long  before  my 
time  (in  1789-1792)  been  turned  into  the  county 
gaol ;  and  its  river  frontage  was  hid  by  a  huge 
blank  disfiguring  gaol-yard  wall  without  a  single 
tower  or  other  determining  feature  to  break  and 
relieve  it.  In  the  day  when  the  country  wakes 
to  the  pleasure  of  its  own  history  and  its  memorial 
buildings,  it  will  restore  to  the  town  the  approach 
to  that  fine  gateway,  an  end  to  a  street  vista  of 
which  any  place  that  cared  two  pins  for  its  archi- 
tecture would  be  proud. 

The  Castle,  mainly  a  Clare  Castle,  dates  from 
about  1140  ;  but  in  a  more  primitive  way  it  kept 
guard  before  that,  the  site  being  one  of  those 
naturally  pointed  out  for  use  by  its  command  of 
the  river  approaches.  The  Britons  used  it  in  their 
own  way ;  the  Romans  used  it  in  theirs ;  the 
Welsh  and  the  Normans  used  it  turnabout  long 
after  the  last  Romans  had  gone. 

You  best  realise  the  Castle  in  its  extent  by  look- 
ing at  the  plan  in  Speed's  map  of  the  town,  1610. 
The  courtyard  was  a  large  one,  with  three  flank- 
ing towers,  a  fine  keep  and  unusually  spacious 
apartments  and  living-rooms  at  the  north-west 
corner.  There  was  no  gate,  I  believe,  on  the 
north  side  where  the  ominously  shut  gaol-gates 
are  now,  looking  towards  Spilman  Street.  The 
chapel  attached  to  the  Castle,  St.  Edward's,  must 
have  been  a  very  fine  one,  to  judge  by  the  crypt 
in  the  cellars  of  the  Sheaf  Inn. 


THE  TOWN   OF  CARMARTHEN         231 

Before  the  Clare  Castle  one  was  built  out  of  a 
yet  older  fort  to  seal  the  first  Norman  advance 
about  1083.  This  held  its  place,  and  stood  siege, 
for  some  thirty-three  years.  Still  earlier,  in  1079, 
the  Welsh  chroniclers  say  that  Gwilim  Vastard — 
William  the  Bastard,  William  the  Conqueror — 
had  been  on  pilgrimage  to  St.  David's.  If  so,  no 
doubt  he  paused  at  Carmarthen  on  the  way ;  and 
if  we  accept  that  record,  we  are  driven  to  connect 
the  Castle  of  1083  with  his  journey.  For  when 
William  I.  went  on  a  pilgrimage  he  kept  a  keen 
eye  to  other  sites  than  those  of  the  churches  he 
passed.  The  Castle  held  its  own  until  the  day 
when  Owain,  son  of  Caradoc,  was  deputy  castellan 
for  its  Norman  owner.  It  was  then  that  Gruffydd, 
son  of  Rhys  ab  Tewdwr,  who  had  lately  returned 
from  Irish  exile,  appeared  on  the  scene.  Another 
prince,  the  son  of  Cynan,  had  been  giving  him 
harbourage  in  the  north,  but  had  promised 
Henry,  who  feared  the  Tudor  intrigue,  either  to 
give  him  up  or  to  have  him  quietly  put  away. 
Luckily  a  servant  carried  secret  news  of  this 
treachery,  and  he  escaped  just  in  time,  flying  to 
Aberdaron  where  the  Church  gave  him  sanctuary, 
and  so  making  his  way  south.  Then  the  mesh  was 
drawn  round  him  in  the  south.  Henry,  hearing 
that  he  had  escaped  and  made  a  stand  in  Strath 
Towy,  sent  Owain,  son  of  Cadwgan,  and  another 
chief  in  pursuit.  The  Vale  or  Strath  of  Towy 
seems  only  a  scone  for  a  pastoral,  but  its  cross 
glens,  leading  off  into  wild  country,  often  sent 
armed  bands  swooping  down  upon  the  town-gate 
and  citadel  of  Carmarthen.  One  of  these  bands 
under  the  young  prince,  who  had  escaped  Henry's 
snares,  surprised  the  Castle  at  the  end  of  this 
episode,  and  Owain,  Caradoc's  hopeful  son,  was 


232  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

killed  on  the  ramparts  as  he  stood.  Owain  was 
deputy  castellan  for  the  Norman  lord. 

Failing  your  chance  of  going  to  gaol  in  the 
Castle  and  so  scaling  its  walls,  the  tower  of  St. 
Peter's  Church  is  your  best  point  of  vantage 
whence  to  see  Carmarthen  to-day.  There  with 
the  aid  of  Speed's  map  and  a  little  local  fantasy 
you  can  discern  not  only  the  old  parish  bounds 
and  the  old  town  within  the  parish  of  St.  Peter, 
but  you  can  see  the  old  inhabitants  of  the  town 
parading  in  contempt  of  history,  Merlin  and  Dick 
Steele  among  them. 

Carmarthen,  as  its  Welsh  name  with  its  play 
apon  "  Merlin  "  or  "  Myrddin  "  (Caer-Fyrddin) 
shows,  is  probably  a  Welsh  echo  of  a  British 
place-name.  The  Latin  names  Muridinum  and 
Maridunum  hint  at  the  derivation.  Ptolemy  gives 
us  the  first,  Antoninus  the  second.  Roman  roads 
run  east,  north-east,  and  west  to  and  from  Car- 
marthen, whose  traces  are  pointed  out  below,  as 
the  names  Sarnau  (causeways),  Pensarn  (head  of 
the  causeway),  &c.,  declare.  When  the  Romans 
went,  the  Welsh  no  doubt  resumed  the  place, 
fighting  amongst  each  other  as  Welsh  custom  was. 
We  conjure  up  Merlin  here  to  fill  the  historical 
gap ;  and  leap  some  centuries  to  reach  the  year 
when  Gruffydd  of  the  Tudors  attacked  and  took  it. 
Having  taken  the  Castle,  he  sacked  the  town,  but 
made  no  effort  to  keep  either,  and  drew  to  a 
hold  at  Dinevor.  After  this,  Carmarthen  Castle 
saw  more  fighting  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  any  other 
castle  in  this  district,  owing  to  its  position  in  a 
region  perfectly  formed  for  Welsh  warfare.  In 
1137  it  was  taken  by  Owain  Gwynedd  ;  in  1143  by 
his  sons,  including  Howel  the  Tall,  the  poet,  a  rare 
castle-breaker.  In  1159  it  was  besieged  by  Rhys 


m 
.    2 

2  I 

a    ~ 


THE  TOWN   OF  CARMARTHEN         233 

ab  Gruffydd,  Prince  of  Dyfed,  but  the  siege  was 
raised  by  a  formidable  combined  force,  Norman 
and  Welsh. 

Nott  Square,  at  the  south  end  of  King  Street, 
was  formerly  High  Street,  and  here  stood  the 
town-stocks  and  a  cross,  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
site  now  occupied  by  General  Nott's  monument. 
At  this  cross  it  was  that  Bishop  Ferrar  suffered 
martyrdom  on  March  30,  1555.  Foxe,  in  his  Book 
of  Martyrs,  says  it  was  in  the  market-place  he 
was  burnt,  on  the  "  south  side  of  the  Market- 
cross,"  which  some  local  writers  have  placed  near 
the  Priory.  But  as  the  old  street-market  was  held 
chiefly  in  the  High  Street,  not  far  from  the  gate 
of  the  Castle,  and  there  was  a  cross  where  we 
have  indicated,  little  doubt  is  left  about  it. 

The  writer's  grandfather  described  to  him  the 
aspect  of  the  town  as  it  was  when  the  market- 
stalls  were  spread  on  a  Saturday  or  a  fair- day,  with 
one  stall  for  hats  including  the  "  het  befr,"  or 
tall  Welsh  hat,  and  others  for  Welsh  homespun, 
and  yet  others  for  the  good  brown  pots  and  pans 
from  the  local  potteries.  You  could  buy  eggs 
then  for  twopence  or  threepence  a  dozen,  and  a 
nice  Nantgaredig  fowl  for  tenpence,  and  a  fat 
duck  for  a  shilling.  Taylor,  the  "  Water  Poet," 
visited  Carmarthen  on  his  last  journey,  and 
waxed  eloquent  over  its  good  fare  and  low 
prices : — 

"Butter,  as  good  as  the  world  affords,  2id.  or  3d.  the 
pound ;  a  salmon  two  foot  and  halfe  long,  twelve  pence. 
Biefe,  Hd.  a  pound ;  oysters  Id.  the  100  :  egs  12  for  a 
penny.  A  little  money  will  buy  much,  for  there  is  nothing 
scarce  dear  or  hard  to  come  by  but  tobacco  pipes." 

The  two  back  streets  that  continue  the  line  of 


234  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

King  Street  and  Nott  Square  down  through  what 
is  'still  called  Bridge  Street  to  the  quay  and  the 
bridge  show  the  old  characteristically  narrow 
chief  approach  to  the  town  from  the  bridge.  On 
the  extreme  left,  next  to  the  "  White  Lion,"  and 
abutting  on  its  yard,  we  come  upon  an  unexpected 
bit  of  the  old  Castle.  Near  the  Castle  gates 
the  market  used  to  be  held  in  the  space  of  Upper 
Market  Street,  now  Nott  Square,  and  this  was 
the  heart  of  the  old  town. 

Descending  Lower  Market  Street  to  Guildhall 
Square,  you  pass  the  site  of  old  St.  Mary's  Church 
at  the  Guildhall,  and  what  was  St.  Mary's  Street, 
now  the  Guildhall  Square,  to  the  Dock  Gate,  the 
old  north-western  gateway  of  the  town.  And 
turning  to  the  right  out  of  the  extreme  corner  of 
the  square,  and  bearing  to  the  left  through  Red 
Street,  you  come  to  the  present  market ;  on 
Saturday  forenoon  a  bustling  scene  with  its  rows 
of  market-women  and  its  hearty  show  of  country 
produce  and  Welsh  flannel  and  Carmarthen  cloths. 

At  the  north-east  side  of  the  town,  standing 
well  among  its  trees  at  the  meeting  of  many 
streets,  St.  Peter's  Church  is  the  best  memorial 
left  of  old  Carmarthen  town.  The  spacious  four- 
teenth-century building  that  we  discern  now 
includes  large  portions  of  an  earlier  one ;  instead 
of  aisles  it  has  two  naves,  one  of  which  is  much 
older  than  the  other.  The  tower  is  tall  and 
massive.  The  interior  is  unusually  full  of  monu- 
ments and  mural  tablets.  The  most  remarkable, 
the  tomb  of  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas  and  his  wife, 
was  conveyed  here  from  the  old  Priory  Church, 
when  the  ruins  of  that  vanished  landmark  were 
desecrated  in  the  early  eighteenth  century. 

There  is  no  inscription  now  on  his  tomb,  but  it 


THE  TOWN  OF  CARMARTHEN         235 

might  run :  "  Here  lies  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas,  Ruler 
and  Governor  (under  favour  of  Henrys  VII.  and 
VIII.)  of  all  Wales ;  Chamberlain  of  Carmarthen 
and  Cardigan ;  Seneschal  of  Builth,  Haverf  ord- 
west  and  Rhoose.  He  fought  in  five  battles,  held 
the  most  famous  tourney  ever  seen  in  Wales — at 
Carew — left  innumerable  children,  and  died  in 
1527  full  of  years  and  honours  ;  escaping  by  a 
timely  death  the  mortification  of  seeing  the  dire 
change  already  impending  in  the  fortunes  of  his 
family." 

Another  tomb,  less  defaced  by  age  and  time, 
shows  us  the  effigy  of  a  praying  lady,  the  Lady 
Vaughan,  with  an  impressive,  curious  epitaph 
which  begins — 

1 '  Kinde  Reader  Vnderneath  this  tomb  doth  lye 
Choice  Elixar  of  mortal! tie." 

If  one  leaves  St.  Peter's  by  Priory  Street,  one 
passes  the  old  Priory  site  hidden  behind  the  houses 
on  one's  right,  and  then  reaches  presently,  in  the 
dip  of  the  street  where  the  Oernant  brook  flows 
out,  "Merlin's  Tree" — a  last  remnant  of  the  oak, 
propt  now  and  set  on  a  base  of  mason-work — 
with  a  new  tree  growing  up  beside  it.  And  there 
one  may  drink  in,  if  one  can,  that  very  breath  of 
mystery  which  the  Silurist's  brother  drank  in 
elsewhere.  According  to  old  tradition : — 

When  Merlin's  tree  shall  tumble  down, 
Tumble  then  shall  Merlin's  town." 

There  is  a  reference  to  the  Tree  in  a  much  later 
rhyme : — 

"  Three  sailors  pass,  by  the  Water-Gate, 
And  sing  of  Merlin,  as  it  grows  late. 


236  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Last  night  they  sailed  the  Irish  Sea, 

The  bitter  sea,  in  a  wild  twilight 

Where  its  tide  swims  north  to  Enlli's  strait ; 

From  the  Water-Gate  to  Merlin's  Tree 

They  sing  to-night 

Of  Merlin's  death  and  Annwn's  might." 

Sir  Richard  Steele's  connection  with  Carmarthen 
was  through  his  second  wife,  Mary  Scurlock,  only 
daughter  of  Jonathan  Scurlock  of  Llangunnor, 
and  it  was  only  the  last  four  or  five  years  of  his 
life  he  spent  here.  One  cannot  but  speculate  on 
the  effect  of  the  sequestered  life  of  a  small 
country  squire  at  Ty  Gwyn  under  Llangunnor  Hill, 
upon  the  soldier,  essayist,  poet  and  wit.  He  had 
lived  through  the  follies  and  excitements  that 
a  campaign  in  the  Low  Countries,  much  lively 
commerce  with  the  London  stage,  a  give-and-take 
partnership  with  Addison,  and  many  quarrels 
and  bitter  jealousies,  and  encounters  with  men 
like  Swift,  had  formerly  provided.  It  was  Swift 
who  said  of  him  (in  the  "Satire  on  Dr.  Delaney"): — 

"Thus  Steele,  who  own'd  what  others  writ, 
And  flourish'd  by  imputed  Wit, 
From  perils  of  a  hundred  Jayls 
Withdrew  to  starve  and  dye  in  Wales." 

But  Bishop  Hoadly  of  Hereford,  where  Steele 
lodged  for  awhile  before  retiring  to  Carmarthen, 
said  of  his  friend  that  he  retired  to  retrench  in 
his  living  and  save  money  so  as  to  "do  justice 
to  his  creditors."  At  any  rate  to  Carmarthen 
he  came,  apparently  with  a  view  to  settling  down 
for  good,  in  1725  or  1726;  and  though  he  paid 
visits  to  Hereford,  he  returned  to  London  no 
more.  A  stroke  of  paralysis  made  him  feeble  in 


THE  TOWN  OF  CARMARTHEN         237 

both  mind  and  body  in  the  last  three  years  of  his 
life  ;  but  a  pretty  picture  is  given  of  the  sick  man 
by  Victor,  who  writes  :  "  I  was  told  he  retained  his 
cheerful  sweetness  of  temper  to  the  last,  and 
would  often  be  carried  out  in  a  Summer's  evening, 
where  the  country  lads  and  lasses  were  assembled 
at  their  rural  sports ;  and  with  his  pencil  give  an 
order  on  his  agent,  the  mercer,  for  a  new  gown 
for  the  best  dancer."  Steele  died  in  1729,  Sep- 
tember 1st,  at  a  house  standing,  some  say,  on  the 
spot  where  the  Post  Office  now  stands,  and  which 
was  converted,  after  his  death,  into  an  inn,  the 
"  Ivy  Bush  " — not  to  be  confused,  of  course,  with 
the  present  "  Ivy  Bush "  in  Spilman  Street. 

What  should  be  said  of  Steele's  Carmarthen 
wife — his  "  Dear  Prue,"  his  pretty,  peevish  Prue — 
spoilt  child,  wilful  and  shrewd,  contrary  and 
charming  woman?  We  must  be  kind  to  her 
memory,  for  his  sake  and  because  she  was  a 
Carmarthen  girl,  and  must  have  known  its  streets 
as  a  little  maid,  quite  as  well  as  she  knew  St. 
James's  or  Hampton  Court  afterwards.  Her 
"  little  disputes  "  with  her  husband  notwithstand- 
ing, she  must  have  found  life  entertaining  in  his 
company,  for  he  went  on  being  an  ardent,  whim- 
sical lover  long  after  he  had  become  her  husband  : 
indeed,  to  the  end.  "  I  love  you  better,"  he  wrote, 
"than  the  light  of  my  eyes,  or  the  life-blood  of 
my  heart."  He  wooed  her  to  good  temper  with 
walnuts  and  coach-rides.  "Dear  Prue,"  he  wrote 
once,  "  I  send  you  seven  pen'north  of  walnuts  at 
five  a  penny.  Which  is  the  greatest  proof  I  can 
give  you  at  present  of  my  being  with  my  whole 
Heart  yrs.  Richd>  Steele."  But  the  thirty-five 
walnuts  had  diminished  by  the  time  the  letter 
was  sent  off,  for  he  wrote  outside  it,  "  there  are 


238  THE   SOUTH   WALES   COAST 

but  twenty-nine  walnuts."  Next  day  he  sent  her 
fifty  more,  and  sent  his  "  service "  to  Binns,  who 
was  Prue's  companion  and  confidante,  and  there- 
fore to  be  carefully  propitiated.  That  was  in  1708. 
Lady  Steele  does  not  seem  to  have  made  any  long 
visit  to  Carmarthen  after  her  marriage  until  1716, 
when  she  returned  there  to  look  after  her  pro- 
perty, leaving  her  husband  and  children  behind. 
She  was  said  to  be  not  an  excessively  fond 
mother,  but  he  wrote  gay,  impulsive  letters  about 
the  children  during  her  absence ;  now  to  tell  her, 
"your  son  is  mighty  well  employed  in  tumbling 
on  the  floor  of  the  room  and  sweeping  the  sand 
with  a  feather."  Now,  again,  Betty  and  Molly, 
the  two  girls,  have  been  with  him  in  Paradise 
Bow,  eating  strawberries  and  cream,  in  apprecia- 
ting which  he  showed  them  (he  is  careful  to  tell 
us)  a  father's  good  example.  Meanwhile  she 
continued  her  coyness,  even  at  a  distance,  and 
often  sent  him  cold  letters.  When  she  does  relax 
for  a  moment,  and  call  him  "  good  Dick,"  it  makes 
him  almost  ready  to  forget  his  gout,  and  walk 
all  the  way  down  to  Carmarthen.  She  was  not 
happier  without  him  than  with  him.  She  quar- 
relled with  her  servants  and  her  Welsh  relations. 
Her  nerves  gave  out;  hereditary  gout  declared 
itself.  She  left  Carmarthen  and  returned  to  Lon- 
don at  the  close  of  1717 ;  and  before  another  year 
was  ended  she  had  ended  her  strange  tale.  By 
the  contrariety  of  fate  the  Carmarthen  wife  was 
buried  at  Westminster  Abbey,  and  her  husband, 
the  London  wit,  play- writer,  Tatler,  at  Carmarthen. 
Let  the  following  lines  of  her  writing,  which  are 
to  be  seen,  scribbled  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  among 
the  MSS.  at  the  British  Museum,  serve  to  con- 
vince us  that  there  was  more  under  her  moods 


THE  TOWN  OF  CARMARTHEN         239 

and  fancies   than    most  of    Steele's    biographers 
have  allowed: — 

"  Ah,  Dick  Steele,  that  I  were  sure 
Your  love,  like  mine,  would  still  endure ; 
That  time,  nor  absence,  which  destroys 
The  cares  of  lovers,  and  their  joys, 
May  never  rob  me  of  that  part 
Which  you  have  given  of  your  heart ; 
Others  unenvy'd  may  possess 
Whatever  they  think  happiness. 
Grant  this,  O  God,  my  great  request : 
In  his  dear  arms  may  I  for  ever  rest." 

Betty,  or  Elizabeth,  the  only  child  of  the  mar- 
riage that  survived,  who  is  said  to  have  joined  her 
mother's  beauty  to  her  father's  wit,  married  a 
Welsh  judge,  John  Trevor,  who  became  Lord 
Trevor  of  Bromham.  Prior  to  this  she  was  the 
cause  of  a  duel  between  two  less  fortunate  suitors. 

Sir  Richard  Steele  was  buried  in  the  old  family 
vault  of  the  Scurlocks,  which  is  near  one  of  the 
doors  of  St.  Peter's  Church.  To  realise  what  the 
Carmarthen  of  Steele  and  his  wife  was  like,  we 
may  take  Bucke's  well-known  view  of  the  town, 
and  picture  houses  with  gabled  roofs  and  narrower 
streets,  and  the  still  up-standing  towers  of  the 
Castle  above  the  bridge.  Then,  starting  from  the 
middle  of  King  Street,  we  can  take  our  way  over 
the  bridge  to  Llangunnor,  where  he  lived  in 
Ty  Gwyn,  now  a  farm-house.  I  remember  as  a 
youngster  staring  in  on  a  hot  day  through  the 
lattice  of  the  dairy  windows  at  the  cool  white 
pans  of  milk  and  cream. 

Another  reminiscence  is  of  the  Fair  Days  in  the 
town,  particularly  of  John  Brown's  Fair  (I  never 
learnt  who  John  Brown  was),  when  the  horses 


240  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

and  cattle  used  to  stand  tethered  to  the  railings 
of  St.  Peter's,  and  when  you  would  see  a  horse- 
couper  bringing  a  great  horse  at  full  trot  down 
King  Street  to  show  off  his  paces,  and  shouting 
"  Hi,  hi,  hi ! "  to  ware  the  crowd.  "  John  Brown's 
Fair"  still  flourishes,  and  is  known  as  far  away 
as  Norfolk  and  Stagshaw  Bank  in  the  county  of 
Durham. 

John  Taylor,  the  "Water  Poet,"  whose  list  of 
market  prices  has  already  been  quoted,  was  very 
nearly  lost  on  his  road  to  Carmarthen  on  his 
Welsh  travels.  He  was  then  an  old  man,  and  as 
he  takes  pains  to  tell  us,  he  was  miserably  horsed. 
Missing  his  road  as  the  day  went,  he  had  contrived 
to  flounder  into  a  bog  or  quagmire. 

"  I  had  much  adoe,"  he  writes,  "  to  draw  myself 
out  of  the  dirt  or  my  poore  weary  Dun  out  of  the 
mire.  ...  A  horseman  of  Wales  that  could  speak 
English  overtook  me  and  brought  me  to  Caermar- 
den  and  good  entertn  at  (the)  house  of  one  Mistris 
Oakley.  ...  A  good  large  town  with  a  def  encible 
strong  castle  and  reasonable  haven  for  small  barkes 
and  boats,  which  formerly  was  for  the  use  of 
good  ships,  now  it  is  much  impedimented  with 
shelvs,  sands,  and  other  annoyances ;  it  is  said 
Merlyn  the  prophet  was  born  there." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BHYD-Y-GORS — THE  TALE  OF  THE  THREE  PILGRIMS 
— ST.  CLEAR'S  AND  THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE 
BEAUTIFUL  MISS  BURNES — LAUGH  ARNE  AND 
PENDINE  —  HOWEL  THE  GOOD,  AND  PWYLL 
PRINCE  OF  DYVED 

GOING  by  train  west  from  Carmarthen,  you  leave 
the  Towy  behind  as  you  cross  the  bridge  between 
Johnstown  and  Llanllwch,  keeping  fairly  close 
thereafter  for  some  distance  to  the  high-road, 
which,  again,  dogs  the  old  Roman  road,  the  "  Via 
Julia."  If  you  are  quick  enough  you  can  just 
surprise  a  glimpse  on  your  left,  immediately  the 
bridge  is  crossed,  of  a  comfortable-looking  house 
(an  outpost  of  the  lunatic  asylum)  below  the  rail- 
way level.  The  house  stands  on  the  disputed  site 
of  a  lost  castle,  famous  in  the  record  Rhyd-y-Gors 
("Ford  of  the  Bog").  Not  quite  two  miles  south  on 
the  river  cliff,  overhanging  the  zigzagging  main 
road  to  Llanstephan  and  its  castle,  is  Castell  Moel 
("Bald  Castle"),  better  known  as  Green  Castle, 
where  a  farm-house  is  girt  about  by  some  of  the 
chambers  of  a  Tudor  mansion.  On  my  visit  there, 
one  Saturday  afternoon  many  years  ago,  a  farm- 
boy  and  girl  and  one  or  two  children  were  the 
sole  garrison,  their  elders  having  gone  to  market. 
They  showed  me  the  house,  but  had  only  a  con- 

16  341 


242  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

fused  tale  to  tell  about  the  ruins,  in  which  Roman 
soldiers  seemed  to  be  contemporary  with  Rebecca's 
Daughters. 

But  meanwhile  the  railway  has  left  Towy  side, 
and  begun  to  climb  and  make  its  way  through 
the  green  hills  that  divide  the  watershed  of  the 
Towy  and  the  Taf  and  some  of  its  tributaries,  the 
Cywyn,  the  Dewi  Fawr,  and  the  Gynin.  Reaching 
the  Cywyn,  you  find  at  the  aber,  whence  it  flows 
into  the  Taf  estuary,  two  churches,  which  it  helps 
to  name,  Llanfihangel-  and  Llandeilo-Abercowyn, 
the  latter  another  of  the  places  dedicated  to 
St.  Teilo.  In  Llanfihangel  Abercowyn  churchyard 
is  a  triple  grave  with  a  very  strange  legend 
attached  to  it,  which  as  you  con  it  over  makes 
you  wonder  about  the  old  Pilgrim's  Way  to 
Menevia. 

Three  pilgrims  journeying  to  St.  David's  fell  sick 
here  of  the  plague,  and,  afraid  of  being  left  un- 
buried,  decided  that  the  least  sick  of  the  three 
should  put  an  end  to  and  bury  his  companions 
in  a  grave  into  which  he  too  was  finally  to  creep. 
But  in  the  end  the  pains  of  death  gat  hold  on  him, 
and  he  was  unable  to  adjust  the  slab  over  the 
grave.  How  much  of  the  story  is  true  ?  Possibly 
the  grave  was  ransacked,  and  the  story  invented 
to  explain  the  displaced  covering-stone.  Not 
many  years  ago  a  woman  in  Brittany  committed 
suicide  by  digging  a  grave  and  partly  covering 
herself  with  earth,  and  pulling  down  a  slab  over 
all.  As  for  this  unhappy  haven,  it  used  to  be  said 
that  while  the  pilgrims'  grave  was  well  tended, 
and  kept  clear  of  weeds,  the  little  peninsula  would 
flourish  and  be  fruitful.  But  church  and  church- 
yard have  for  over  half  a  century  been  helped  on 
their  way  to  ruin.  A  new  church,  Victorian  and 


RHYD-Y-GORS,  LAUGHARNE,   PENDINE   243 

inglorious,  but  better  placed,  serves  Llandeilo 
Abercowyn  now. 

The  village  of  St.  dear's,  which  you  reach  after 
the  seven-mile  run  from  Carmarthen,  is  your  best 
point  from  which  to  invade  Llanfihangel  Aber- 
cowyn. St.  dear's  is  one  of  those  lazily-straggling, 
long-drawn  villages  which  often  perplex  the  tired 
vagabond  in  South  Wales.  Such  a  man  accosted  me 
on  an  ancient  plea  opposite  the  "  Mariner's  Arms  " 
about  half-way  down  the  interminable  street.  He 
was  very  dusty — and,  I  fear,  very  thirsty.  He  said 
he  had  tramped  all  the  way  from  Milford — "God- 
strewt  he  had  ! " 

St.  dear's  is  so  called  "after  Santa  Clara,  an  early 
sister  of  the  Church,  who  founded  a  church  here  in 
St.  David's  time  "  (?).  Leland  speaks  of  a  castle  at 
St.  dear's,  which  is  now  only  to  be  traced  by  the 
mound  called  "Bane  y  Bailey,"  where  perhaps  the 
keep  stood.  The  present  church  is  of  all  dates  and 
memories.  A  sister  of  James  I.,  Lady  Drummond, 
lies  buried  in  the  chancel.  A  small  Cluniac  cell, 
served  by  a  prior  and  two  monks,  was  founded 
here  in  1291.  At  the  Dissolution  its  land  went  to 
All  Souls,  Oxford,  which  still  maintains  a  tithe- 
claim  on  the  parish. 

An  extraordinary  tale,  that  might  almost  have 
been  adumbrated  by  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  is  told 
of  St.  dear's.  It  begins — a  good  opening  ! — a  year 
or  two  after  the  Battle  of  Waterloo.  A  mysterious 
party  arrived  one  day  at  the  "  White  Lion,"  and 
after  careful  inspection  took  a  house  called  "The 
White  Cottage."  The  party  included  a  lady  who 
walked  lame  and  used  crutches,  her  daughter,  a 
beautiful  girl  who  passed  as  Miss  Burnes,  and  a 
young  man,  a  son,  who  looked  delicate,  and  who 
was  rarely  seen,  being  absorbed,  it  was  said,  in 


244  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

chemistry.  Presently,  when  Miss  Burnes  had  be- 
come a  great  favourite  in  the  neighbouring  society, 
uneasy  rumours  about  bank-note  forgeries  on  Car- 
marthen banks  gained  vogue.  A  suspicious  pocket- 
book,  dropped  by  Miss  Burnes,  stuffed  with  £5  and 
£10  notes,  gave  a  clue.  But  her  party  had  suddenly 
disappeared  meanwhile.  At  Bath  the  young  lady 
was  detected  passing  a  forged  note  :  her  brother 
was  traced  to  Bristol,  all  three  were  thrown  into 
prison,  and  the  ladies,  being  tried  first,  were  sen- 
tenced to  death.  However,  the  son's  trial  came  on, 
and  he  vowed  they  were  absolutely  innocent,  and 
he  was  the  guilty  person.  In  the  end,  he  was 
hanged,  and  they  escaped  with  a  year's  imprison- 
ment. Their  heartlessness  in  regard  to  their 
doomed  confederate  excited  much  comment.  The 
sequel  is  the  strangest  part  of  the  story.  Miss 
Burnes  became  travelling  companion  to  a  lady  of 
rank — met  at  Florence  the  heir  to  an  earldom,  who 
fell  in  love  with  her ;  married  him,  and  died — a 
countess.  While  in  Carmarthen  prison  this  in- 
teresting figurante  is  described  as  wearing  a 
wonderful  grey  silk  frock  cut  in  Spanish  fashion, 
and  draped  with  a  black  lace  shawl,  while  a  small 
velvet  cap  adorned  one  side  of  her  pretty  head. 

Laugharne  is  reached  via  St.  dear's  Station,  from 
which  brakes  run  regularly  to  the  town ;  for  a 
town  it  claims  to  be,  with  the  officers  and  para- 
phernalia of  a  borough.  It  lies  snug  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Taf,  the  inlet  where  that  stream  and  the 
Towy  and  the  two  Gwendraeths  mix  their  waters 
with  the  sea.  Town-street,  castle,  church,  and 
quay— all  have  a  demure  air  of  past  importance. 
A  hundred  years  ago  Laugharne  was  as  busy  a 
small  seaport  as  you  could  wish  to  see  ;  and  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  it  was  counted  as  "  one  of 


RHYD-Y-GORS,  LAUGHARNE,  PENDINB   245 

the  six  chief  towns  in  all  Wales,  being  then  larger 
than  Cardiff !  "  In  William  IV.'s  time,  if  we  accept 
the  exaggerated  estimate,  Laugharne  even  passed 
for  fashionable ;  a  smaller  Tenby,  with  something 
of  a  busy  county  town  added.  Miss  Curtis,  in  her 
Antiquities,  lamenting  the  change  that  had  come 
over  the  place  in  her  day,  says : — 

"  Nearly  all  the  wealthy  and  ancient  families  are  gone. 
About  forty  to  fifty  years  ago  Laugharne  presented  a  lively 
scene  :  the  carriages  of  the  rich  rolled  by  its  houses  ;  in  the 
morning  and  afternoon  the  different  families  walked  up  and 
down  the  street  from  the  Mariners'  Corner  to  the  houses  with 
bay  windows,  just  past  the  Vicarage  on  the  opposite  side. 
Parties  often  concluded  the  day.  Malkin,  who  was  here  in 
1803,  said  it  was  the  best  built  town  in  Carmarthenshire." 

The  same  writer  draws  a  picture  of  the  town  on 
market-day  with  the  farmers  and  their  wives  and 
daughters,  coming  in  from  Llanboidy  and  other 
parts,  on  horseback,  "  seated  on  a  sort  of  cushion 
called  a  pannel,  with  large  bags  of  striped  woollen 
stuff,  some  full  of  corn,  others  of  oats,  swung  on 
each  side  of  the  horse.  The  boys  made  many  pen- 
nies by  holding  their  horses.  The  corn  and  oats 
were  sold  to  the  different  storehouses,  and  were 
then  shipped  to  Bristol."  Fortunately  Laugharne 
has  not  lost  everything  with  its  striped  corn-bags, 
sea-going  trade,  and  retired  gentility.  Cover  Cliff 
and  Warly  Point  still  stretch  their  necks  into  the 
sea,  and  the  path  along  the  side  of  St.  John's  Hill 
still  stares  across  at  St.  Ishmael's  and  Cefn  Sidan 
and  Worm's  Head.  If  the  Devonshire  coast  and 
Lundy  Island  are  also  seen  rain  may  be  expected 
shortly,  say  the  fishermen. 

Laugharne  Castle  is  now  part  of  a  private  house, 
a.nd  its  inner  works  unluckily  can  only  be  seen  by 


246  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

special  favour.  Wogan  Street,  which  leads  to  it, 
brings  us  to  the  site  of  one  of  the  old  gateways 
which  made  the  town  formidable.  The  outer 
bailey  of  the  Castle  was  extended  to  the  church 
gates,  and  there  the  principal  gateway  of  the 
Castle  stood ;  and  another  gate  stood  at  the 
Mariners'  corner.  Wogan  Street,  stretching  from 
the  Castle  to  the  Island  House,  represents  the  old 
street  which  here,  as  elsewhere,  grew  up  within 
the  shadow  and  under  the  strong  arm  of  the 
Castle. 

Laugharne  Castle  may  be  best  seen,  externally, 
if  you  walk  down  the  beach  below  when  the  tide  is 
out,  or  take  boat  at  high  water  and  row  round  the 
harbour.  Then  it  still  has  a  stern  military  air.  Its 
effect,  you  will  find,  is  much  increased  by  its  mix- 
ture of  square  and  round  towers — work  of  different 
periods. 

An  earlier  castle  than  the  present  was  founded 
by  Rhys  ap  Gruffydd  on  what  is  said  to  be  a 
Roman  site.  Rhys  entertained  Henry  II.  here  on 
his  return  from  Ireland  in  1172.  King  Street  is  so 
called  after  that  monarch.  In  1215  the  Castle  was 
in  Norman  hands  ;  for  Llewelyn  the  Great  sacked 
and  burnt  the  place.  Then  it  was,  probably,  that 
Guy  de  Brian  began  the  building  we  now  see, 
having  already  had  the  castlery  as  a  grant.  From 
the  Brian  family  it  passed  to  the  Devereux  family : 
then  to  the  Herberts,  Earls  of  Pembroke,  and  so  to 
the  Percys.  It  remained  with  the  latter  until  the 
attainder  of  the  sixth  Earl  of  Northumberland,  in 
Elizabeth's  reign,  when  it  passed  to  the  Crown. 
Then  Sir  John  Perrot,  that  "  bold  and  free-tongued 
gentleman,"  who  claimed  to  be  a  natural  son  of 
Henry  VIII.,  was  made  castellan  of  Laugharne  ; 
so  remained  until,  in  his  other  role  of  Irish 


RHYD-Y-GORS,  LAUGHARNE,   PENDINE   247 

purgator  and  deputy,  he  was  accused  of  uttering 
disrespectful  words  against  the  Queen,  and  en- 
couraging the  rebellion  of  O'Rourke  and  other 
Irish  malcontents  and  Romish  priests.  He  said 
"  he  had  from  impatience,  and  not  from  a  disloyal 
heart,  uttered  words  against  the  Queen."  Popham, 
the  Attorney-General,  found  him  guilty,  though 
unjustly.  Leaving  the  tribunal,  he  said,  "  God's 
death  !  will  the  Queen  suffer  her  brother  to  be 
offered  up  a  sacrifice  to  the  envy  of  his  frisking 
adversaries  ? "  The  Queen  seemed  inclined  to 
pardon  him,  but  he  expired  in  the  Tower,  Septem- 
ber, 1592,  six  months  after  his  condemnation. 

The  Castle  stood  intact  until  it  was  battered 
in  the  Civil  War.  Laugharne  folk  declared  Crom- 
well (or  the  devil  in  his  likeness)  besieged  the 
Castle  in  person.  His  soldiers  raised  batteries  on 
Fern  Hill,  and  in  a  field  called  New  Park.  Finally, 
the  water  was  cut  off,  and  the  Castle  fell ;  General 
Laugharne  (whose  family  took  their  name  from 
the  place),  pluckiest  of  turn-coats,  fought  on  both 
sides,  and  first  took  the  Castle  for  the  Commons, 
and  then  held  it  for  the  King.  This  second  siege 
was  that  when  Cromwell  is  said  to  have  been 
active.  When  the  Castle  fell  it  was  dismantled 
and  partly  burnt  by  the  Roundheads,  whose 
cannon-balls  have  frequently  been  found. 

Laugharne  Church,  St.  Martin's,'  was  another  of 
castle-builder's  design,  with  embattled  tower.  It 
was  rebuilt,  in  something  like  its  later  form,  by  the 
De  Brians.  The  interior  is  well  worth  sketching. 
Originally  the  floor  rose  in  three  separate  pitches 
towards  the  altar;  but  this  feature,  with  many 
others,  has  gone  under  the  various  repairs  and 
restorings.  The  painted  ceiling  of  Laugharne 
Church  was  one  of  "  the  sites  of  the  place "  when 


248  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

our  grandfathers  went  to  stay  there.  Notice  the 
monuments  of  Guy  de  Brian  and  Sir  John  Powel. 
The  effigy  in  the  north  transept  is  that  of  Lady 
Palmer,  who  met  with  a  strange  death,  "from  a 
reaping-hook  concealed  in  a  hay-field."  This  part 
of  the  church  is  sometimes  called  "  Palmer's  aisle." 
A  figure  of  St.  George  has  gone  from  one  window ; 
a  portrait  of  Edward  III.  still  appears  in  another. 
An  old  yew-tree  near  the  south  entrance  was  called 
the  "fox-tree  ";  and  here  all  kinds  of  vermin  used 
to  be  nailed.  In  the  parish  register  is  an  account 
of  the  prices  paid  for  the  heads  of  the  vermin. 

Pendine  has,  I  believe,  the  longest  sands  in 
Wales,  and  for  two  miles  or  more  they  are  fine  and 
hard  and  ridable,  horse  or  cycle.  They  have  tall 
cliffs  and  tidal  caves  to  back  them  too,  and  many 
green  approaches,  through  sea  cwms,  as  one 
ranges  west  toward  Marros.  The  village  has  no 
great  accommodation  for  visitors,  but  the  inevitable 
bungalow  has  made  an  entry  now. 

If  you  approach  Pendine  by  the  upper  road 
from  St.  Clear 's,  through  Eglwys  Cymmyn,  you 
have  a  formidable  descent  to  make  from  the 
high  grounds  on  the  eastern  side  of  Marros 
Mountain.  To  the  wheelman  this  is  likely  to 
prove  a  snare,  if  he  is  continuing  his  road  west. 
Thinking  to  avoid  the  huge  ascent  back  to  the 
high-road,  I  tried  to  ride  the  sands  round  to  the 
next  corner,  but  only  to  find  the  tide  coming  up 
at  a  hand-gallop  ;  and  finally  I  had  to  make  an 
ignominious  return,  hauling  the  machine  over  the 
boulders  and  through  salt  water  ;  and  the  adven- 
ture, amusing  in  the  recollection,  was  a  trying  one. 
The  tides  at  Pendine  make  a  considerable  difference, 
you  will  find,  to  your  resources  if  you  stay  there, 
as  they  cut  off  the  approach  to  the  cliffs  and  caves 


RHYD-Y-GORS,  LAUGHARNE,  PENDINE   249 

by  the  beach  round  Dolwen  Point.  There  is  a 
footpath  over  the  cliff  shoulder,  however,  which 
you  can  take  from  the  cliff  road  above  the  Spring 
Well. 

Pendine  used  to  be  a  favourite  spot  for  the 
farmers  to  visit  on  their  holiday-after-harvest  fete, 
and  it  was  a  common  thing  to  see  numbers  of  gigs, 
carts,  and  dogcarts  drawn  up  at  the  inns.  The  old 
road  to  Laugharne,  skirting  the  burrows,  was  a 
very  rough  one.  The  "  Laugharne  Waggon,"  fifty 
years  ago,  was  drawn  by  three  horses  abreast,  and 
needed  it,  especially  on  market-days. 

The  Pendine  Cliffs  end  at  Gilmin  Point;  the 
name  is  said  to  be  due  to  the  fact  that  formerly, 
during  the  time  of  religious  persecution,  "people 
used  to  assemble  here  for  divine  worship  ;  on  one 
occasion  a  preacher  named  Gilman  stood  at  the 
entrance  of  the  cave,  called  the  'pulpit,'  and 
preached  to  a  thousand  people.  'Beacon's  Hill,' 
over  Gilmin  Point,  is  so  called  from  lights  having 
formerly  been  placed  there,  for  the  heartless  pur- 
pose of  wrecking  ships.  Old  inhabitants  'remember 
the  men  going  on  horseback,  with  a  lantern  tied 
under  the  horses'  heads  for  this  object.'" 

The  sea-cwm  at  Morva  Bychan  can  be  surprised 
from  the  beach  if  the  tide  permit;  and  the 
hazel-copses  and  underwoods  that  vary  the  Marros 
Mountain  wildness  are  like  cool  streams  to  the  eye 
on  a  hot  summer  day.  If  the  cwm  is  followed  about 
half-way,  and  the  road  taken  straight  on  when  the 
cwm  twists  to  the  left,  it  brings  you  to  the  Green 
Bridge,  below  the  new  hostelry  that  stands  on 
the  bank.  The  road  passes  over  the  "  Bridge  " — 
a  nine-days'  wonder — but  you  must  descend  on  the 
upper  side  to  the  stream  to  see  its  waters  disappear 
within  the  magic  cavity.  Emerging  fifty  yards 


250  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

further  down,  the  stream  makes  its  way  through 
Morva  Bychan  valley  to  the  sea. 

The  road  for  Llanddowror  rises  gradually  as  you 
leave  St.  dear's  behind,  then  descends  again  from 
Craig  Wen.  The  name  of  a  former  Vicar  of  Lland- 
dowror falls  sooth  on  the  ear.  Griffith  Jones 
was  of  those  devoted  souls  who  work,  no  matter 
what  the  discouragements,  for  the  love  of  God  and 
man.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  church,  lying  low 
on  the  left  of  the  highway  as  you  descend  into  the 
village. 

The  church,  dedicated  to  St.  Cringat,  is  a  simple 
building,  lately  restored.  The  interior — plain  nave 
and  chancel — does  not  look,  superficially,  like  that 
known  to  Griffith  Jones,  for  its  small  space  was  in 
his  day  yet  smaller,  being  half  eaten  up  by  high- 
backed  pews. 

When  Griffith  Jones  came  to  Llanddowror  in 
1716,  the  ignorance  of  the  country  people  gave  a 
shock  to  his  perfervid  mind.  He  conceived  the 
idea  of  bribing  them — as  there  was  great  distress 
in  the  land — with  halfpenny  loaves  dispensed  in 
the  church  porch,  to  come  to  him  and  be  taught 
to  read  the  Bible  at  least.  Out  of  this  hungry 
beginning  in  1730  grew  the  Welsh  "  Circulating 
Schools,"  whose  masters  were  itinerant  for  a  time. 
Then  schools  were  stablished,  village  and  parish, 
and  thousands  of  people  taught ;  10,000,  it  is  said, 
was  the  number  in  the  year  of  his  death,  1761.  A 
good  woman,  Madam  Bridget  Beavan  of  Laugh- 
arne,  aided  him  in  the  work.  She  it  was  who 
erected  the  tablet  to  him  on  the  south  wall  of  the 
church  ;  and  she  was,  at  her  wish,  buried  near  his 
grave.  His  tomb  is  in  the  chancel,  and  was  moved 
to  make  more  space  for  the  altar;  but  his  remains 
actually  lie  under  the  floor  of  the  nave,  below  the 


RHYD-Y-GORS,  LAUGHARNE,  PENDINE   251 

communion  rail.  Madam  Beavan  left  £10,000  at 
her  death  in  1779  for  carrying  on  the  schools, 
which  money  after  much  litigation  went  eventually 
to  their  maintenance. 

If  the  wayfarer  pauses  under  the  wall  of  the 
village  school  on  a  summer  forenoon  he  may  hear, 
as  I  did,  the  youngsters'  fresh  voices  chiming  out 
a  sort  of  babe's  litany.  It  seemed  to  me  the  best 
"  In  Memoriam  "  that  Griffith  Jones  could  have. 

From  Llanddowror  over  a  league  of  climbing 
road,  now  tracing  a  stream,  now  dividing  green 
copses,  leads  on  to  Red  Roses.  The  place  is  on  high 
ground,  five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  a  flying 
glimpse  of  the  place  promptly  declares  that  there  are 
no  roses  there.  The  name  is  akin  to  that  of  Marros 
Mountain,  and  comes  from  "  Rhos,"  a  moorish  fell, 
and  not  from  the  red  rose  at  all.  Five  roads  cross 
at  Red  Roses.  That  turning  off  to  the  left  winds 
and  zigzags  its  way  through  Eglwys  Cymmyn  to 
Pendine,  while  another  forks  to  the  right  at  the 
upper  Pendine  Inn,  leading  to  Marros  village. 
Eglwys  Cymmyn  means  Bleak  Church  (?)  it  is  said, 
because  of  its  exposed  site.  A  monument  to  Sir 
John  Perrot  is  in  the  church ;  and  Peace  Park  and 
Parc-y-Castell  in  the  parish  recall  its  fighting  days. 

You  leave  the  sea  if  you  go  on  to  Whitland,  the 
Ty  Gwyn  or  White  House  of  Hywel  Dda  or  Howel 
the  Good,  greatest  of  Welsh  lawgivers.  It  is 
another  instance  of  the  way  in  which  we  still 
follow  old  habits  in  Wales,  that  Whitland,  which 
Howel  found  a  good  meeting-place  for  the  coun- 
cillors called  together  out  of  the  Welsh  commots 
and  hundreds,  should  now  be  a  junction  of  railway 
lines.  Whitland  to-day  makes  little  of  the  associa- 
tions gathered  about  it,  but  it  is  not  wonderful 
that  the  old  "Ty  Gwyn"  has  left  no  trace,  since 


252  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

it  was  a  timber  building  which  could  be  moved 
almost  as  readily  as  an  Eisteddfod  pavilion  to-day. 
Imagine  a  hall,  with  oak  and  beech-trees  for 
columns,  a  forked  branch  at  the  top  serving  to 
carry  the  long  roof-tree,  and  side  walls  of  stout 
poles  and  wattle-work  forming  the  aisles.  In 
winter  a  great  fire  burnt  in  the  centre,  its  smoke 
rising  through  a  "  simdde  louvre,"  or  sheer  opening 
in  the  thatched  roof.  Walls  and  roof  were  white- 
washed, completing  this  White  House ;  and  the 
door  at  the  end  was  wide  and  high  enough  for 
a  mounted  horseman  to  ride  in  erect.  Afterwards, 
the  Abbey  perpetuated  the  name  of  "  Ty  Gwyn 
ar  Taf,"  although  built  on  a  different  site  from 
Howel's  house.  It  was  a  Cistercian  house ;  its 
remains  make  part  now  of  a  country  house  and  its 
purlieus. 

Having  got  to  Whitland,  you  are  again  on  the 
verge  of  romance-country.  Narberth,  a  plain, 
demure  country  town  at  first  sight,  is  a  place 
of  renown.  The  long  and  broad  descending  High 
Street  brings  you,  if  you  persist,  to  the  upstanding 
mound  of  the  Castle  Hill,  and  reminds  you  that  the 
old  Welsh  name  of  the  place  was  Castell-yn- 
Arberth,  afterwards  reduced  to  Narberth.  Older 
people  will  still  call  it  Arberth.  Sir  Andrew  Perrot 
built  the  present  Castle,  which  consists  of  a  gate- 
way and  two  towers,  and  some  dilapidated  curtain 
and  partition  walls. 

But  the  original  Castell  was  far  older.  We  read 
in  the  Mabinogion  how  Pwyll,  Prince  of  Dyved, 
lord  of  the  seven  cantrevs,  "  was  at  Narberth,  his 
chief  palace,  and  he  was  minded  to  go  and  hunt, 
and  the  part  of  his  dominions  in  which  it  pleased 
him  to  hunt  was  Glyn  Cuch.  So  he  set  forth  from 
Narberth  that  night,  and  went  as  far  as  Llwyn 


RHYD-Y-GORS,  LAUGHARNE,  PBNDINE   253 

Diarwydd.  And  that  night  he  tarried  there,  and 
early  on  the  morror  he  rose  and  came  to  Glyn 
Cuch.  .  .  ."  Later  in  the  tale  we  hear  of  a  mound 
above  the  palace  called  Gorsedd  Arberth.  This 
mound,  to  be  sure,  was  an  enchanted  one ;  but 
you  should  turn  now  to  the  Mabinogion  and  read 
there  of  the  "lady  upon  a  white  horse,  in  a 
garment  of  shining  gold,"  who  could  not  be  over- 
taken, and  of  the  wonders  that  she  brought  about. 
You  will  picture  her,  Rhianon,  as  she  throws  back 
her  hood  and  reveals  her  lovely  face  to  Pwyll, 
when  at  length  she  halts  for  him  to  come  up  with 
her.  You  will  hear  her  then,  in  the  time  of  her 
mysterious  penance  for  the  great  crime  she  had 
not  done — murdering  and  devouring  her  son ! — 
hear  her  as  she  sits  on  the  horse-block  near  the 
gate  of  the  palace  in  Arberth,  telling  with  down- 
cast eye  and  mournful  voice  her  terrible  tale. 

Grove,  near  Narberth,  was  a  house  of  Colonel 
Poyer,  who  was  shot  after  his  brave  defence  of 
Pembroke  Castle,  as  you  will  hear  when  we  get 
there.  The  railway  line,  as  it  leaves  Narberth, 
crosses  high  ground  and  then  begins  to  burrow 
after  the  stream  that  issues  at  Amroth.  When 
you  reach  Begelly  you  have  Amroth  two  miles 
away  on  the  left,  and  have  passed  by  on  the  same 
side  Kilgetty  and  its  deer-park.  Approaching 
Saundersfoot,  you  are  running  over  the  last  patch 
of  the  coal-measures  in  the  country,  whose  work- 
ing is  seen  in  sundry  small  collieries  hereabouts. 
Saundersfoot  village  lies  down  in  a  sea-hollow, 
quite  hidden  away  from  the  upper  main  road  to 
Tenby,  where  you  reach  the  limestone  rock  that 
gives  the  town  so  much  of  its  character  and 
waterside  vantage. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

TENBY:     THE     OLD      TOWN     AND     THE    NEW — PEOUD 
GILTAB — LYDSTEP   HAVEN   AND   CALDY   ISLAND 

A  STRONG  fortress  and  a  walled  town,  a  decent 
borough  for  centuries,  and  an  elect  watering-place 
since  about  the  year  1785,  Tenby  has,  after  a 
rather  dull  period  during  a  part  of  last  century, 
taken  out  a  new  lease  of  fame.  Its  name  comes 
from  the  Welsh — "  Dinbych  y  Pysgod  "  (small  city 
of  fishes),  which  truly  describes  its  amphibious 
circumstance.  Built  on  a  rock,  it  has  at  high  tide 
the  salt  water  flowing  nearly  all  round  it ;  and  the 
freshest  of  salt-sweet  air,  mild,  yet  not  relaxing, 
tonic  but  not  cold,  fills  its  lungs.  Sometimes,  no 
doubt,  the  wind  is  boisterous,  but  this  only  makes 
the  adventure  of  the  Castle  Hill  and  the  High 
Street  more  amusing.  Sometimes  too  it  is  said  to 
rain  (average  rainfall  about  thirty-six  inches) ;  but 
this  only  adds  to  the  hydropathic  advantages 
expressed  by  the  sea  and  the  "  Marine  Baths  "  in 
St.  Julian  Street.  Finally  its  coast,  from  Saunders- 
foot  round  to  St.  Govan's  and  the  Stack  Rocks,  and 
on  to  Angle,  is  so  notoriously  picturesque ;  its 
rural  neighbourhood  is  so  verdurous  and  so  be- 
castled,  that  a  dozen  summers  spent  here  need  not 
exhaust  its  charms. 

254 


TENBY :  THE  OLD  TOWN  AND  THE  NEW    255 

As  you  look  on  Tenby  town  from  the  Castle  Hill, 
you  may  try  in  vain  now  to  recall  what  the  old 
walled  town  was  like  before  the  idle  and  fashion- 
able Tenby  came  into  being.  But  the  old  walls 
and  towers,  as  one  encounters  them  in  the  circuit 
of  the  old  streets,  still  give  a  serious  air  of  history 
to  the  place.  The  old  town,  says  a  writer  who 
wrote  before  the  railway  came,  was  well  fortified. 
One  of  its  gates  "  leading  towards  Carmarthen  is 
encircled  with  an  embattled  but  open-roofed  tower, 
after  the  manner  of  Pembroke.  The  extent  of  the 
wall  on  the  land  side,  which  encloses  only  a  part  of 
the  town,  is  512  yards,  and  the  height  about 
21  feet ;  this  was  furnished  with  embrasures,  and 
flanked  by  two  square  and  five  semicircular 
towers.  The  south  wall  rises  high  above  the  level 
of  the  sea  at  high  water  ;  and  through  one  of  the 
semicircular  bastions  is  an  entrance  into  the  town, 
by  a  passage  called  Southgate,  formerly  defended 
by  an  iron  portcullis.  Northgate  having  fallen 
into  decay,  has  been  removed ;  hence  the  Old 
Town  and  Norton,  or  Northtown,  form  one  con- 
tinued street.  Besides  these  gateways  there  are 
two  more  on  the  sea  side,  one  leading  to  the  pier, 
and  the  other  to  the  south  sand. 

"The  religious  establishments  of  the  town  and 
suburbs  have  been  numerous.  There  was  an 
hospital,  or  free  chapel,  of  St.  John's,  founded  by 
William  de  Valence  and  Joan,  his  wife.  A  lazar- 
house  in  the  suburb,  dedicated  to  St.  Mary 
Magdalen,  was  endowed  about  the  year  1236  by 
Gilbert  Marshal,  with  lands  for  the  relief  of  the 
lepers  received  therein.  An  almshouse  was  com- 
menced by  Anselm,  successor  in  the  earldom  to 
Gilbert,  but  not  completed.  A  convent  of 
Carmelite  friars  was  founded  by  John  de  Swyne- 


256  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

more  in  1399,  22d  Richard  II.,  called  St.  Mary's 
College." 

The  South  Parade  still  gives  one  an  idea  of  the 
town  wall,  with  the  antique  details  oddly  varied  by 
the  back-doors  of  certain  inns  and  hostelries, 
which  pierce  it  at  intervals.  The  most  curious- 
looking  feature  of  the  wall  to-day  is  the  gateway, 
called  the  "  Five  Arches."  Three  of  these  were 
made,  however,  in  much  later  days  than  those 
when  the  gate  was  built.  The  original  arch  was 
that  facing  the  South  Parade,  with  a  rounded  top 
to  it.  The  portcullis  slot  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the 
stonework.  The  walls,  as  they  stand,  are  of 
various  dates.  One  portion  dates  (as  a  wall-tablet 
near  the  fire-station  shows)  from  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  was  built,  it  is  suggested,  by  Sir  John  Perrot. 

From  Castle  Hill  on  a  clear  day  with  a  good  spy- 
glass you  can  see  not  only  Caldy  Island  near  by, 
and  Lundy  Island  far  away,  but  you  can  make  out 
Amroth  Castle,  Llanstephan  Castle,  and  Kidwelly 
Castle,  with  many  churches  and  other  humbler 
landmarks,  and  see  the  Burry  River  at  flood  turn 
pale  blue  under  the  north-east  corner  of  Gower. 

The  Castle  ruins  on  Castle  Hill  are  meagre  :  a 
rude  tower  of  primitive  aspect,  with  a  later  tower 
adjoining  it,  after  a  fashion  to  puzzle  the  antiquary, 
and  a  few  walls  of  uncertain  date,  are  all.  The 
bare  surroundings  do  not  help  to  enhance  the 
effect  of  the  ruins. 

The  "  Brut  y  Tywysogion,"  Chronicle  of  the 
Princes,  mentions  one  attack  at  least  on  a  still 
earlier  castle  than  the  present :  one  in  1151,  when 
when  two  of  the  "  fighting  Rhyses  " — Rhys  and  his 
brother  Meredydd,  sons  of  Gruffydd  ab  Rhys — 
surprised  it,  and  put  its  castellan  and  his  men  to 
the  sword.  In  later  times,  as  the  town  grew  and 


TENBY :  THE  OLD  TOWN  AND  THE  NEW    257 

strengthened  its  walls,  the  Castle  was  enlarged. 
Its  final  fall  came  in  the  Civil  War.  Bombarded 
by  the  Parliamentary  ships-of-war  in  1643,  it  was 
strong  enough  to  hold  its  own.  This  was  no  small 
glory  for  the  Pembroke  men  ;  but  in  1648  another 
attack,  more  boldly  and  elaborately  contrived,  sent 
it  down.  Town  and  Castle  passed  from  the  King 
to  the  Commons  ;  and  the  Castle  was  put  out  of 
the  reckoning,  so  far  as  any  further  warfare  went. 

Now  the  Castle-keep  helps  to  register  by  its 
gauges  and  glasses  those  things  which  seaside  folk 
always  find  interesting — wind  and  weather,  rain 
and  sun — things  that  affect,  too,  the  decay  of  towns 
and  castle  walls  like  Tenby's. 

The  monument  on  the  left  is  a  Welsh  counter- 
part to  the  familiar  Albert  Memorial  at  Hyde 
Park.  The  arms  of  Llewelyn  the  Last,  the  Red 
Dragon  of  Cadwaladr,  with  the  legend  "Anorch- 
fygol  Ddraig  Cymru "  ("  Unconquerable  Dragon 
of  Wales")  appear  upon  it. 

New  Tenby  began  to  be  about  two  hundred 
years  after  the  date  last  cited,  and  it  owes  that 
beginning  to  a  gentleman  who  was  none  other 
than  the  proverbial,  mythical,  but  in  this  case 
quite  authentic,  "John  Jones."  A  doctor  and  a 
bachelor  of  medicine  of  Haverfordwest,  he  was  the 
man  locally  to  discover  the  sea  as  "  a  benignant 
hygienic  and  hydropathic  monster."  In  November, 
1781,  the  Corporation  granted  him  a  lease  of  St. 
Julian's  Chapel,  which  stood  on  the  old  pier.  This 
was  a  Sailors'  and  Fishermen's  Chapel,  intended  as 
a  place  for  them  to  confess  their  sins  and  pray 
before  putting  to  sea.  Now  in  the  last  half  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  although  the  rector  of  St. 
Mary's  claimed  toll  on  all  fish  landed,  he  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  serve  the  chapel.  The  Tneby 

17 


258  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

fishermen  thereupon  declared  "No  prayer,  no  fish  ! " 
and  the  chapel  fell  into  neglect  and  was  in  a  bad 
way  evidently  in  1780  when  John  Jones  bethought 
him  of  the  new  function  it  might  be  made  to 
serve.  At  any  rate,  he  turned  it  into  a  bathing- 
house,  and  so  it  remained  till  in  1805  Sir  William 
Paxton  built  his  sumptuous  baths.  These  were 
burnt  down  almost  before  they  were  occupied,  but 
others  were  built  in  their  place.  In  1812  Fenton 
describes  Tenby  as  a  town  half  in  ruins,  and 
various  accounts  show  that  in  the  rejuvenating 
of  the  place,  which  went  on  vigorously  after  that, 
the  old  walls  and  gateways  were  quarried  to  build 
some  of  those  solid  Georgian  terraces  which  still 
remain.  It  is  worth  note  that  the  Carmarthen 
Gate,  which  stood  where  the  Royal  Gate  House 
Hotel  and  the  Lion  Hotel  now  stand,  commanding 
White  Lion  Street,  was  pulled  down  in  the  same 
year  in  which  John  Jones  got  his  lease  of  St. 
Julian's  Chapel — in  1781. 

Tenby  parish  church  commands  you  to  halt  in 
High  Street  as  you  enter  Tudor  Square.  Entering, 
you  are  first  attracted  in  the  interior  by  the 
imposing  flight  of  ten  steps  which  lead  up  to  the 
altar.  The  wooden  roof  of  the  chancel,  richly  gilt 
originally,  was  a  late  addition,  and  indeed  the 
building  is  of  various  dates  and  periods,  Norman 
to  Early  English,  Transition  to  Perpendicular. 
The  tombs  provide  a  sort  of  history  of  the  town 
written  in  stone.  Here  is  one  to  the  famous  old 
burgess  stock  of  the  Whites,  which  is  set  in  the 
arch  on  the  right  of  the  altar  steps.  Its  alabaster 
panels  are  a  miniature  family  portrait-gallery 
worth  study,  and  the  two  marble  effigies  above, 
dressed  in  the  costume  of  Henry  VIII.'s  time, 
commemorating  John  and  Thomas  White,  help  to 


TENBY :  THE  OLD  TOWN  AND  THE  NEW    259 

suggest  the  Tenby  that  strengthened  its  walls  and 
was  a  fat  borough.  Another  curious  family  tomb 
is  that  to  the  wife  of  Thomas  ap  Rees,  of  Scots- 
borough,  which  shows  that  good  knight  on  his 
knees,  his  lady  on  her  side,  and  a  "  praty "  brood 
of  little  Reeses  below.  Another  tomb  is  that  of  a 
Tenby  red-gowned  alderman,  William  Risam,  who 
lived  out  his  life  here  while  Shakespeare  was  living 
his  in  London  and  Stratford.  Local  gossip  declares 
that  Cromwell,  thinking  the  effigy  a  living  man, 
shot  at  him,  and  that  the  dent  of  the  bullet  is  in 
the  wall.  But  the  most  extraordinary  tomb  I 
know  is  one  near  the  entrance  door  in  the  north 
aisle — the  effigy  of  the  one  absolute  predestined 
ascetic  in  the  unforgetable  guise  of  death  and 
emaciation,  a  thing  not  to  be  forgotten  till  the 
spectator  is  out  on  the  south  sands  surrounded  by 
the  babble  and  gaieties  of  the  living. 

As  for  the  amphibious  delights  of  Tenby,  are 
they  not  all  duly  set  forth  in  the  guide-books, 
which  tell  you,  too,  how  to  reach  the  Museum  door, 
guarded  by  two  notorious  ship-heads  from  old 
wrecks?  There  you  may  see  the  results  of  the 
labours  of  the  local  antiquaries  and  others.  Tenby, 
its  frivolities  notwithstanding,  has  always  been  a 
conscious  student  of  itself  and  its  neighbourhood, 
its  bone-caves  and  sea-creatures ;  and  many  a 
rarity  is  lodged  here  as  a  result  in  this  quiet 
corner  of  the  old  Castle  buildings.  In  the  lower 
room  you  will  find  strange  remains  of  the  men  we 
know  so  little  about — the  Stone  Men — with  many 
arrow-heads,  hammers,  and  stone  lances,  from  the 
collection  of  a  former  Rector  of  Gumfreston,  the 
Rev.  Gilbert  Smith.  Notice,  too,  the  relics  dis- 
gorged by  Hoyle's  Mouth  and  the  quarries  of 
Caldy  Island  or  dug  out  of  Longbury  Bank  Cave 


260  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

by  the  author  of  Little  England  Beyond  Wales, 
Mr.  Edward  Laws,  and  Professor  Bolleston.  Mr. 
Laws  once  actually  picked  up  a  bone  of  a  mammoth 
on  the  South  Sands,  and  other  surprising  "  finds  " 
have  been  made  by  Tenby  men. 

In  the  same  room  you  have  a  selection  of  the 
wild  birds  and  queer  sea-fowl  of  the  Pembroke- 
shire coast  in  the  Mathias  Collection,  and  a  choice 
array  of  the  Tenby  shells,  due  to  the  shell-hunting 
of  Captain  Lyons,  who  has  given  his  name  to  one 
rare  small  shell,  the  Lyonsia.  Upstairs  there  are 
moths  and  butterflies,  coins  and  tokens,  and  a  set 
of  prints  and  old  water-colours.  The  old  town  as 
it  was  before  the  advent  of  Dr.  John  Jones  and 
Paxton  and  the  Georgian  builders  is  made  con- 
temporary in  the  water-colour  drawings  of  Charles 
Norris  and  other  pictures. 

Leaving  the  Museum,  you  will  be  glad  of  a  windy 
walk  to  the  old  pier,  where  there  is  generally  some 
small  bustle  of  boats  and  yachts  coming  and  going, 
or  to  the  Victoria  Pier,  where  the  Bristol  and 
Waterford  steamers  or  the  Ilfracombe  boat  may 
happen  to  be  due.  Safe  as  Tenby  Harbour  and  its 
sea-roads  seem  now,  it  has  seen  portents  in  its 
time.  French  privateers  have  been  captured  in 
the  very  harbour ;  pirates  and  smugglers  have  sold 
rare  wines  and  fine  silks  to  the  cellars  and  ward- 
robes of  Tenby. 

The  folk-lore  and  the  local  traditions,  if  they  are 
disappearing,  are  not  yet  forgotten.  You  may 
even  get  a  native  to  sing  you  "Says  Milder  to 
Melder,"  the  Song  of  the  Hunting  of  the  Wren : — 

' '  Oh,  where  are  you  going  ? '  says  Milder  to  Melder, 
'  Oh,    where  are   you  going  ? '   says  the  younger  to  the 
elder ; 


TENBY :  THE  OLD  TOWN  AND  THE  NEW    261 

'Oh,  I  cannot  tell,'  says  Festel  to  Fose  ; 

'We're  going  to  the  woods,'  said  John  the  Red  Nose. 

'We're  going  to  the  woods,'  said  John  the  Bed  Nose. 

'  Oh,  what  will  you  do  there  ? '  says  Milder  to  Melder, 
'  Oh,  what  will  you  do  there  ? "  says  the  younger  to  the 

elder ; 

'  Oh,  I  do  not  know,'  says  Festel  to  Fose ; 
'To  shoot  the  Cutty  Wren,'  says  John  the  Red  Nose. 
'To  shoot  the  Cutty  Wren,'  says  John  the  Red  Nose. 

'  Oh,    what  will   you   shoot   her  with  ? '   says   Milder   to 

Melder, 
'  Oh,  what  will  you  shoot  her  with  ? '  says  the  younger 

to  the  elder ; 

'Oh,  I  cannot  tell,'  says  Festel  to  Fose; 
'With    bows    and    with    arrows,'    says    John    the    Red 

Nose. 
'With    bows    and    with    arrows,'    says    John    the    Red 

Nose." 

Many  wholesome  seasonal  customs  flourished  in 
the  town  of  Tenby,  and  not  so  long  ago.  On 
Christmas  Eve  crowds  used  to  assemble  in  the 
streets,  march  in  procession,  blowing  cow-horns. 
Then  long  before  "morning  light"  on  Christmas 
Day  the  young  men  met  with  lighted  torches  to 
accompany  the  clergyman  to  the  church,  when 
the  service  was  held  which  is  still  kept  up  in  one 
or  two  Welsh  villages  and  called  "  the  Plygain." 
And  on  New  Year's  morning  the  boys  and  girls 
knocked  at  the  house  doors  early  with  their  "  New 
Year's  Water,"  which  they  drew  fresh  from  a 
well  and  carried  in  a  tin  or  mug.  With  it  they 
sprinkled  the  persons  and  even  all  the  apartments 
of  a  house  in  return  for  small  coin,  using  little 
branches  of  evergreen  for  the  purpose.  One  of 
the  songs  sung  by  the  children  who  carry  the 


262  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

"New  Year's  Water"  is   most  imaginative,  most 
musical — 

"Here  we  bring  new  water  from  the  well  so  clear, 
For  to  worship  God  with,  this  happy  new  year ; 
Sing  '  Levy  dew,  levy  dew,  the  water  and  the  wine ! ' 
With  seven  bright  gold  wires  and  bugles  that  do  shine  ; 

Sing  reign  of  fair  maid,  with  gold  upon  the  toe, 
Open  you  the  west  door  and  turn  the  old  year  go  ; 
Sing  reign  of  fair  maid,  with  gold  upon  her  chin  ; 
Open  you  the  east  door  and  let  the  new  year  in. 

Sing  '  Levy  dew,  levy  dew,  the  water  and  the  wine ! ' 
With  seven  bright  gold  wires  and  bugles  that  do  shine." 

The  words  levy  dew  are,  some  say,  a  corruption 
of  the  Welsh  lief  i  Dduw—cry  to  God!  The 
second  verse  appears  to  figure  the  sun  setting  and 
sun  rising,  along  with  the  going  of  the  Old  Year 
and  incoming  of  the  New. 

You  meet  more  geologists  than  you  do  folk- 
lorists  at  Tenby,  and  indeed  fossil-hunters  have  a 
good  hunting-field  in  the  neighbourhood.  Water- 
wynch  Bay  can  be  visited  when  the  tide  is  at  half- 
ebb  ;  the  cliffs  there,  although  nothing  so  fine  as 
Lydstep,  make  a  bold  setting  for  the  small  bay ; 
the  Raven  Cliff  and  the  rocks  at  hand  suggest 
that  the  Saundersfoot  coal-measures  are  approach- 
ing. Fossil  ferns  are  to  be  had  in  the  "Fern 
Rock."  Beyond  the  Monkstone  it  is  impossible 
to  pass  save  at  the  very  lowest  of  low  tides,  and 
the  way  back  from  Waterwynch  to  Tenby  by  the 
beach  is  not  to  be  followed  save  at  ebb  of  the 
high  spring-tides. 

Tenby  has  inland  caves  besides  those  on  the 
shore.  Hoyle's  Mouth  has  not  the  charm  of  a  sea- 


TENBY:  THE  OLD  TOWN  AND  THE  NEW    263 

washed  cavern,  but  it  is  the  largest  and  geologi- 
cally one  of  the  most  extraordinary  of  all  the 
limestone  caves  that  Pembrokeshire  can  boast. 
If  the  little  Ritec  stream  could  be  followed  it 
would  bring  us  to  the  bank  where  lies  Hoyle's 
Mouth.  A  bicycle  lamp  will  prove  of  service  in 
exploring  the  interior,  which  extends  for  fifty 
yards  in  a  series  of  chambers,  the  third  and  last 
of  the  three  usually  visited  being  the  largest  and 
finest.  The  view  from  the  opening,  which  is  wide 
and  spacious,  is  very  striking.  The  interior,  once 
noted  for  its  fine  stalactites,  has  suffered  in  being 
ransacked  for  the  bones  and  cave  implements  and 
the  "  finds  "  now  lodged  in  Tenby  Museum. 

Local  gossip  declares  the  cave  runs  all  the  way 
underground  to  Pembroke  Castle.  Science  says 
it  was,  like  its  neighbour,  Longbury  Bank,  used  of 
old  as  a  cave-dwelling.  Longbury  Bank  lies  under 
an  irregular  copse-clad  knoll  at  the  top  of  a  rough 
grassy  ascent.  The  cave  is  pretty  near  the  top  of 
the  bank,  and  a  funnel  opens  and  leads  up  to  the 
field-level  from  its  roof. 

Another  half-mile  and  you  are  on  the  verge  of 
Lydstep  Haven,  whose  sands  lie  in  the  crook  of 
Lydstep  Point.  The  caves  lie  beyond  the  Point, 
and  you  descend  the  cwm,  passing  the  old  lime- 
kiln and  the  quarries,  to  reach  them — two  of 
them  right  in  the  nose  of  the  promontory.  By 
following  the  cwm  down  past  the  upper  caves  to 
the  beach,  you  have  the  "  Droch "  and  Natural 
Arch  on  your  right,  and  the  Smuggler's  Cave  and 
two  smaller  tidal  caverns  on  the  left.  Here  the 
extraordinary  rock-shapes  and  precipices  are 
flanked  by  a  sea-shore  full  of  sea  wonders, 
minute  crustacean  creatures  and  microscopic 
dragons. 


264  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Wandering  this  part  of  the  coast,  we  are  bound 
to  call  up  again  the  boyish  figure  of  Walter 
Savage  Landor,  whom  we  already  intercepted  on 
the  shore  of  Swansea  Bay.  At  Tenby  he  met 
lanthe  and  Rose  Aylmer — 

"Rose  Aylmer  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 

May  weep,  but  never  see  ; 
A  night  of  memories  and  sighs 
I  dedicate  to  thee." 

From  lanthe  he  borrowed  a  book  which  gave  him 
the  idea  of  his  Gebir.  Now  knowing  how  and 
where  he  wrote  it,  we  are  led  while  we  read  to 
translate  some  of  its  Arabic  back  into  Welsh 
scenes : — 

"  I  since  have  watch'd  her  in  each  lone  retreat, 
Have  heard  her  sigh  and  soften  out  the  name ; 
Then  would  one  change  it  for  Egyptian  sounds 
More  sweet,  and  seem  to  taste  them  on  her  lips 
Then  loathe  them  :  Gebir,  Gebir  1 " 

So,  too,  thinking  of  the  poet  himself,  we  read 
how  Gebir — 

' ' .   .  .  when  his  passion  had  subsided,  went 
Where  from  a  cistern,  green  and  ruin'd,  ooz'd 
A  little  rill,  soon  lost ;  there  gathered  he 
Violets  and  harebells  of  a  sister  bloom, 
Twining  complacently  their  tender  stems 
With  plants  of  kindest  pliability. 
These  for  a  garland  woven,  for  a  crown 
He  platted  pithy  rushes,  and  ere  dusk 
The  grass  was  whiten'd  with  their  roots  nipt  off." 

If  you  are  fanciful  enough,  you  may  discover 
near  Manorbier  the  very  spot  to  which  these 
lines  of  Landor  refer. 


TENBY :  THE  OLD  TOWN  AND  THE  NEW    265 

Caldy  Island,  which  Tenby  considers  her  own, 
has  latterly  become  again  the  headquarters  of  a 
religious  order — the  Benedictines  of  the  English 
Church.  The  Brothers  have  published  an  account 
of  their  settlement,  which,  whether  you  accept  their 
eremitic  religious  doctrine  or  not,  you  will  find 
worth  pondering.  The  book  is  called  The  Bene- 
dictines of  Caldy  Island  (Formerly  of  Painsthorpe, 
York),  and  it  is  published  at  the  Abbey  there. 
The  aims  of  the  Brotherhood  may  be  shortly 
resolved  into  three :  "  Quietism,  Adoration,  and 
Prayer!"  They  migrated  thither  in  1906  from 
Painsthorpe,  having  the  Old  Priory  and  Church  of 
Caldy  to  give  them  temporary  shelter.  Since  then 
they  have  built  a  Guest  House,  and  made  a 
beginning  with  their  larger  monastery.  At  the 
pleasant  Guest  House  religious  guests  who  are 
like-minded  with  the  Benedictines,  and  wish  for  a 
Retreat,  may  stay  at  no  great  cost. 

The  early  history  of  Caldy  so  far  bears  out  the 
rude  impressiveness  of  the  Priory  Church  as  to 
make  good  the  tradition  of  the  island.  The 
Welsh  called  it  Ynys  Pyr,  or  at  times  Llan  Illtud. 
Illtyd  we  know.  Pyr  is  believed  by  Sir  John 
Rhys  to  stand  for  Porius,  the  same  who  lies 
buried  under  a  tumulus  at  Trawsfynydd  in 
Merioneth.  The  local  ties  of  the  name  are 
strengthened  by  the  Lives  of  the  Saints.  In  the 
life  of  Samson,  Bishop  of  Dol,  Pirus  is  said  to 
have  founded  a  monastery  not  far  from  that  of 
St.  Illtud.  Allowing  for  the  slight  confusion 
between  Llantwit  Major  and  Caldy,  we  have  good 
grounds  for  connecting  Illtyd  with  the  island. 
His  pupils  there,  says  this  Book  of  the  Bene- 
dictines, included  St.  Gildas ;  and  among  the 
companions  of  Gildas  were  St.  Paul  Aurelian  of 


266  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Leon,  St.  Samson,  St.  David,  St.  Malo,  and  St. 
Brieuc.  St.  David  in  another  account  becomes 
Deiniol.  The  string  of  Breton  and  Welsh  names 
is  seen  to  be  close  tied  when  we  come  to  trace  the 
religious  and  seafaring  commerce  of  the  two  lands, 
and  the  resolving  of  chiefs  and  knights  into  sea- 
hermits  and  of  actual  legends  into  Arthurian  tales 
with  Welsh,  Breton,  and  Cornish  backgrounds. 
The  legend  of  Caldy  is  a  very  real  expression  of  the 
place  :  it  is  the  tale  of  the  monk  cribbed  within  a 
narrow  isle,  an  isolated  "llan,"  or  old  church-close. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

GERALD  THE  WELSHMAN  AND  "THE  FAIREST  SPOT 
IN  WALES" — MANORBIER — GERALD'S  WALES — 
CAREW  CASTLE  AND  THE  GREAT  TOURNAMENT 
OF  SIR  RHYS  AP  THOMAS — SLEBECH  AND  THE 
KNIGHTS  OF  ST.  JOHN  OF  JERUSALEM 

Now  to  the  sound  of  a  militant  horn  and  an 
urgent  church-bell  enters  the  intrepid  and  amazing 
figure  of  Gerald  the  Welshman — Giraldus  Cam- 
brensis.  When  you  reach  Manorbier  in  the  course 
of  your  travels  and  take  the  long  road  from  the 
station  down  to  the  green  village  and  the  sea-cwm 
across  which  the  Castle  and  its  stern  bride  the 
Church  confront  one  another,  you  are  on  the  verge 
of  a  charmed  domain.  Long  may  the  builder,  the 
tourist,  and  the  expropriating  twentieth  century 
keep  their  irreverent  hands  off  its  green  places. 

Gerald  was  born  there  in  or  about  the  year  1147, 
youngest  son  of  Angharad  and  William  de  Barri, 
and  grandson  of  Nesta,  the  "  Helen  of  Wales,"  as 
she  was  called,  and  of  Gerald  de  Windsor.  He 
came,  as  you  see,  of  the  pick  of  two  races,  Welsh 
and  Norman ;  and  he  was  gifted  in  mind,  fair  in 
body,  of  heedless  wit  and  consuming  energy.  His 
affection  for  his  birthplace  he  expressed  in  an 
intensive  figure — a  narrowing  down  of  the  world, 
and  of  Wales  to  one  chosen  spot,  Manorbier.  "  As 

267 


268  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Dimetia  is  the  fairest  of  the  Welsh  lands,  and  Pem- 
broke the  fairest  part  of  Dimetia,  and  this  the 
fairest  of  Pembroke,  it  follows  that  Manorbier  is 
the  sweetest  spot  in  Wales." 

He  was  a  very  handsome  creature,  and  he  gloried 
in  it.  "Is  it  possible  so  fair  a  youth  can  die?" 
asked  Bishop  Baldwin  when  he  first  saw  him.  It 
was  with  Baldwin,  when  he  had  become  Archbishop, 
that  Gerald  went  on  the  Itinerary,  preaching 
the  Crusade,  which  fills  the  best  of  his  books.  The 
page  about  Manorbier  with  its  wild  and  curious 
Pyrric  derivation  of  the  name  cannot  be  omitted 
from  the  chronicle  : — 

"  The  castle  called  Maenor  Pyrr,  that  is  the  mansion  of  Pyr- 
rus  who  also  possessed  the  island  of  Chaldey,  which  the  Welsh 
call  Inys  Pyrr,  or  the  island  of  Pyrrus,  is  distant  about  three 
miles  from  Penbroch.  It  is  excellently  well  defended  by  turrets 
and  bulwarks,  and  is  situated  on  a  summit  of  a  hill  extending 
on  the  western  side  towards  the  sea-port,  having  on  the 
northern  and  southern  sides  a  fine  fish-pond  under  its  walls, 
as  conspicuous  for  its  grand  appearance,  as  for  the  depth  of 
its  waters,  and  a  beautiful  orchard  on  the  same  side,  inclosed 
on  one  part  by  a  vineyard,  and  on  the  other  by  a  wood, 
remarkable  for  the  projection  of  its  rocks,  and  the  height  of 
its  hazel  trees.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  promontory,  between 
the  castle  and  the  church,  near  the  site  of  a  very  large  lake 
and  mill,  a  rivulet  of  never-failing  water  flows  through  a 
valley,  rendered  sandy  by  the  violence  of  the  winds.  Towards 
the  west,  the  Severn  Sea,  bending  its  course  to  Ireland,  enters 
a  hollow  bay  at  some  distance  from  the  castle ;  and  the 
southern  rocks,  if  extended  a  little  further  towards  the  north, 
would  render  it  a  most  excellent  harbour  for  shipping.  From 
this  point  of  sight,  you  will  see  almost  all  the  ships  from 
Great  Britain,  which  the  east  wind  drives  upon  the  Irish  coast, 
daringly  brave  the  inconstant  waves  and  raging  sea.  This 
country  is  well  supplied  with  corn,  sea-fish,  and  imported 
wines  ;  and  what  is  preferable  to  every  other  advantage,  from 
its  vicinity  to  Ireland,  it  is  tempered  by  a  salubrious  air." 


GERALD  THE  WELSHMAN'S  COUNTRY   269 

The  Castle  buildings  you  see  now  are  not  those 
celebrated  by  Gerald,  who  was  born  in  a  much 
simpler  building,  of  far  less  apparent  consequence 
than  that  marked  by  the  present  jumble  of  ruins, 
mediaeval  and  Tudor,  set  about  the  well-ordered 
lawns  of  a  modern  country  house.  A  tower,  a 
moated  ward  within  a  curtain  wall,  and  possibly  a 
gatehouse,  are  all  we  can  recover  of  Gerald's  boyish 
House  of  Paradise.  The  place  was  innocent  alike 
of  the  greater  walls  of  the  military  fortress  and 
the  much  later  domestic  buildings  at  the  south- 
west end,  with  the  apartments  that  Mr.  Cobb  has 
restored  below  and  the  stone  roof  and  curious 
chimneys  above.  The  roof  can  be  ascended  by  the 
stairs  from  the  old  dining-hall ;  its  curious  strong 
stonework  would  certainly  have  pleased  Gerald, 
had  it  existed  in  his  time.  But,  of  course,  this  part 
of  the  Castle  was  not  built  till  centuries  later. 
Sceptics  even  say  Gerald  was  born  in  a  rude  wooden 
castle  built  upon  or  near  the  old  camp  on  Oldcastle 
Point. 

If  we  take  Mr.  Cobb's  account,  the  square  south- 
west tower  was  built  by  the  same  men  that  built  the 
church  tower,  and  at  a  time  when  men  were  pro- 
digal in  building.  Then,  the  curtain-wall  was  built 
over  the  foundations  of  earlier  walls,  and  the  lower 
chapel  or  crypt  which  dates  from  Gerald's  time  (?). 
Parts  of  the  hall  are,  or  appear  to  be,  Norman  ;  and 
the  vault  leading  to  the  water-gate  replaced  the 
great  beams  of  a  wooden  floor,  which  belonged  to 
the  Norman  ponderous  style  of  early  castle-building. 
The  square  tower  that  flanks  the  gate-tower  is 
probably  early  too.  The  gate-tower  itself  is  later, 
built  on  the  earlier  bare  walls,  however,  of  an  older 
one.  The  strange  thing  is  that  so  much  of  the 
earlier  Castle  remains,  while  so  much  of  the  later 


270  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

apartments,  with  enriched  details  certainly  not 
Norman,  has  gone.  What  became  of  them  ?  Were 
they  carried  off  for  farm  buildings,  or,  most 
mysterious  of  all,  shipped  away  to  build  (as  an 
ingenious  antiquary  has  suggested)  a  mansion  on 
the  opposite  coast  ?  * 

Manorbier  Church  makes  the  perfect  companion 
to  the  Castle.  Norman  in  its  nave  and  tower,  it  has 
Early  English  work  to  show  in  its  aisles  and  tran- 
septs. The  chantry  was  built  some  time  after  the 
tower.  The  tower  was  entered  by  the  rood-loft  or 
by  a  ladder :  those  who  withdrew  into  it  for  defence 
drawing  up  the  ladder  after  them.  The  chantry 
was  converted  into  a  schoolroom  about  sixty  years 
ago.  Which  of  the  later  kindred  of  Gerald  is  the 
knight  whose  effigy,  a  figure  in  a  surcote  and  mail, 
we  see  in  the  aisle  ?  Probably  he  is  late  thirteenth 
century. 

.  Carew  Castle  lies  over  four  miles  slightly  north- 
west from  Manorbier.  Going  from  Pembroke,  you 
cross  half-way  the  old  coaching  high-road  to  Hobb's 
Point,  where  you  can  see  Nash  Church,  which  has  a 
Crusader's  tomb  to  show  you.  A  mile  and  a  half 
further  on  the  way  to  Carew  you  pass  at  Milton 
the  head  of  another  pill  or  creek  of  the  Milford- 
Cleddau  estuary.  The  next  turn  to  the  left  leads 
to  the  Castle,  which  stands  well  posted  above  the 
bridge  at  Carew  Pill,  into  which  the  Carew  stream 
discharges. 

Not  many  yards  away  from  the  entrance  you 
have  the  shapely  Carew  Cross,  left  quite  unpro- 
tected on  the  side  of  the  road — at  the  mercy  of 
every  stone-throwing  urchin  whose  energy  needs 
an  outlet.  The  Cross  stands  on  a  pedestal — the 

*  See  Arch.  Camb.,  October,  1880,  "Manorbere,"  by 
J.  E.  C, 


GERALD  THE  WELSHMAN'S  COUNTRY   271 

Celtic  twisted-osier  ornament  on  the  shaft  much 
worn  and  rubbed.  The  wonder  is  it  has  not  all 
gone  long  ago.  The  inscription  has  been  read 
differently ;  but  it  may  be  rendered,  as  by  Sir 
John  Rhys,  "  Margitent  Decett  f.c.,"  or  fecit  crucem. 
Who  then  was  Margitent?  Possibly  an  Irish 
prince  who  lived  about  950. 

Entering  the  Castle,  you  find  there  a  palpable 
confusion  of  time  and  architecture — old,  older, 
oldest.  The  old  is  Elizabethan ;  and  that  is  the 
square-windowed  Elizabethan  hall  and  apartments 
in  the  north  of  the  quadrangle.  This  was  subse- 
quent to  the  days  of  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas,  and  was 
built  by  another  knight,  Sir  John  Perrot,  who  was 
a  great  builder  and  in  stature  a  great  man.  For 
older  you  have  the  Henry  VII.  Hall,  which  you 
reach  at  the  top  of  the  quadrangle,  one  of  a  series 
of  great  desolated  apartments  once  occupied  in 
state  by  Sir  Rhys.  Perrot's  north  wing,  which 
makes  so  imposing  an  effect  seen  from  over  the 
water,  was  never  properly  finished.  Then  for 
oldest  we  have  the  military  defences,  defined  by 
the  walls  at  the  west  end  and  the  corner  towers, 
which  are  of  Edwardian  type.  The  country 
round  about  is  said  to  have  lost  much  of  its  beauty 
owing  to  the  destruction  of  the  timber  after 
Perrot's  death,  and  the  surroundings  of  the  Castle 
now  hardly  favour  the  lingering  tradition  of  the 
fine  deer  in  the  deer-park  of  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas. 
A  tennis-court  serves  now  as  a  modern  equivalent 
for  the  stately  gaieties  at  Carew  when  he  gave 
his  famous  tournament  in  honour  of  Henry  VII., 
whom  he  had  attended  to  Bosworth  Field,  on  his 
journey  from  Milford  three  years  earlier. 

Sir  Rhys  was  too  old  to  go  to  London  for  the  St. 
George's  Day  celebrations  there,  and  so  he  made  a 


272  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

"  princelie  fete  "  of  his  own,  with  a  chair  or  throne 
set  for  the  King.  To  it  came  many  valorous  gen- 
tlemen, famous  for  "  theire  abilities  in  feates  of 
armes ;  and  many  men  of  prime  rank  who  were 
lodged  within  the  castle,  with  others  of  good 
qualitie  who  were  lodged  in  tentes  and  pavilions 
pitched  in  the  parke."  The  "time  of  jollitie" 
continued  hospitably  for  five  days.  The  first  was 
spent  in  "  taking  a  view  of  all  the  companie, 
choosing  out  five  hundred  of  the  tallest  and 
ablest " ;  the  second,  in  "  exercising  them  in  all 
pointes,  as  if  they  had  beene  suddenlie  to  goe  on 
some  notable  peece  of  service  "  ;  the  third,  in  visit- 
ing the  bishop  at  Lamphey,  and  "  commemorating 
the  vertues  and  famouse  atchievements  of  those 
gentlemen's  ancestors  there  present " ;  the  fourth, 
in  holding  the  tournament,  Sir  William  Herbert 
being  the  challenger,  Sir  Rhys  "playing  the  judge's 
part  "  ;  the  fifth,  in  hunting  and  hearing  a  sermon 
on  loyalty,  love,  and  charity  by  the  Bishop  of  St. 
David's.  The  whole  chronicle  (as  printed  in  Fenton's 
quarto)  makes  a  most  perfect,  high-flown,  delight- 
ful chapter  of  romance.  We  read  how  the  "  justes 
and  tournamentes,"  the  "  knockes  valerouslie  re- 
ceived and  manf ullie  bestowed " ;  the  wrestling, 
hurling  of  the  bar,  taking  of  the  pike,  and  run- 
ning at  the  quinteine,  were  ever  and  "anone 
seasoned  with  a  diversitie  of  musicke."  And 
although  many  prides  and  rivalries  must  have 
lurked  in  this  feast  of  Carew — "  among  a  thousand 
people  there  was  not  one  quarrell,  crosse  worde,  or 
unkinde  looke  that  happened  between  them." 

Carew  Castle  and  its  estates  were  mortgaged  by 
Sir  Edmond  Carew  to  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas.  The 
Carew  family  were  Geraldines,  descended  from 
Gerald  of  Windsor  and  the  Princess  Nest,  whose 


GERALD  THE  WELSHMAN'S  COUNTRY   273 

marriage  portion  Carew  was.  Their  son  William 
took  the  name  Carew  (Welsh,  Caerau — forts).  On 
the  disgraceful  attainder  of  Rhys's  grandson  by 
Henry  VIII.,  the  estates  were  leased  to  Sir  Andrew 
Perrot,  and  then  back  to  the  Carew  family,  in 
whose  possession  they  long  remained. 

Carew  Church,  a  fourteenth-century  Decorated 
church  with  an  earlier  tower,  lies  close  to  the  road 
that  leads  back  from  the  Castle  to  Lamphey,  in 
that  part  of  the  parish  called  Carew  Cheriton. 
The  church  has  many  tombs  of  famous  folk, 
Crusading  lords  of  Carew  and  others.  The  north 
transept  was  used  as  a  sort  of  family  chapel  for 
the  Castle  at  one  time.  Another  chapel,  now  a 
vestry  and  schoolroom,  stands  in  the  graveyard, 
and  the  fine  old  rectory  house  over  the  road  now 
serves  Cheriton  Farm. 

If  you  care  to  extend  your  journey  up  to  Cleddau 
you  can  go  by  Jeff reson,  Yerbeston,  and  Martletwy 
to  Landshipping  Quay,  and  there  cross  the  ferry. 
Over  it  lie  Picton  Castle  and  Slebech ;  on  gaining 
the  Ha'rfordwest  high-road  from  Narberth  you 
turn  east  to  the  latter  place,  or  west  to  the  former, 
as  you  may  prefer.  A  rough  short-cut  leads  up 
from  Slebech  Park,  past  the  fish-ponds,  to  Slebech 
New  Church  on  the  hill  above ;  but  who  cares  to 
see  a  new  church  when  old  ones  are  to  be  had? 
The  Eastern  Cleddau,  up  from  Slebech  Bridge,  is 
richly  wooded,  a  resort  for  some  rarer  birds  that 
have  bred  there  for  time  immemorial.  You  need 
a  canoe,  and  a  few  lazy  days,  to  explore  the 
Cleddau  and  get  to  know  its  waterside  creatures. 

A  good  inland  voyage  from  Hobb's  Point  is  that 
to  Carew  Castle,  some  five  miles  away.  Taking 
boat  at  the  Neyland  ferry,  you  follow  the  Milford 
Cleddau  main  channel,  passing  at  the  end  of  the 

18 


274  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

first  mile  the  old  Pembroke  ferry  to  Burton ;  then 
rounding  Burton  Mountain — a  very  small  mountain 
— and  so  as  far  as  Lawrenny  ferry,  where  you  turn 
right  and  pass  the  quay,  turning  away  from  Benton 
Castle.  It  is  almost  worth  landing  at  Lawrenny 
to  see  the  church,  which  has  a  true  "Pembroke 
tower."  Benton  Castle  can  be  seen  when  boating 
up  to  Ha'rfordwest ;  but  it  is  not  held  to  be  a 
tourist's  castle,  although  both  the  ruin  and  the 
demesne  about  it  are  worth  exploring.  Lawrenny 
does  a  good  deal  of  trafficking  from  its  quay  still. 
It  had  at  one  time  a  fat  oyster-bed  in  the  estuary. 
The  Castle  at  Lawrenny,  as  it  is  sometimes  locally 
termed,  is  the  modern  castellated  mansion,  built 
on  a  site  long  associated  with  the  Burton  family, 
which  stands  embowered  in  Lawrenny  Park. 
Upton  Castle,  due  south  of  it,  is  passed  on  your 
left  as  you  paddle  up  Carew  Pill.  Upton  was 
once  a  fair  castle,  that  served  as  the  seat  of  the 
famous  old  Pembroke  family,  the  Maleufants.  It 
shows  only  the  ruins  of  the  gatehouse  towers 
to-day  and  the  interesting  chapel  of  Upton,  a 
chapelry  of  Nash  Church.  The  chapel  has  some 
curious  tombs  of  the  Maleufants  and  Bowens,  and 
a  singular  detail :  a  clenched  fist  taper-holder  or 
bracket  in  the  north  wall.  If  you  are  adventurous 
enough  to  sail  without  a  pilot  up  these  creeks,  you 
must  be  careful  to  bear  right  and  south-west, 
avoiding  the  Cresswell  creek  after  you  pass  Law- 
renny, and  left  all  the  way  when  you  reach  the 
narrowing  strait  above  Upton,  avoiding  Ford  Pill 
on  the  right  and  Batford  Pill  in  the  middle,  and 
keeping  the  left-hand  channel  of  the  three.  Then, 
unless  you  watch  the  tide,  you  will  be  likely  to  run 
aground  at  points,  and  be  stuck  in  the  mud. 
Should  you  decide  to  explore  the  Cresswell  creek, 


GERALD  THE  WELSHMAN'S  COUNTRY   275 

you  might  find  yourself  investigating  the  top-slime 
of  the  coal-measures,  were  you  to  linger  too  long 
at  Cresswell  (Christ's-well). 

After  making  the  most  of  the  waterways  in  this 
holiday  neighbourhood,  you  will  or  ought  to  find 
that,  of  all  its  places,  it  is  Slebech  affects  your 
fantasy  most,  asks  closer  acquaintance  and  draws 
you  back  to  its  approaches.  Here  at  Slebech  was 
an  old  house  and  commandery  of  the  Knights  of 
St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  who,  from  being  simple 
hospitallers  in  that  sacred  city,  were  fired  to 
become  knights-errant  with  a  charter  wide  as 
"  Christentie."  There  is  no  space  here  to  dilate 
on  the  power  of  their  open  and  secret  confrater- 
nity: the  reader  who  would  like  to  know  what 
their  effect  must  have  been  on  the  mediaeval  life 
of  this  region  may  turn  to  the  very  striking 
articles  by  Mr.  Rogers  Rees  in  Archceologia 
Cambrensis,  based  upon  original  researches. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

PEMBROKE  CASTLE  —  COLONEL  FOYER  —  MONKTON 
PRIORY  CHURCH — PEMBROKE  DOCK — LAMPHEY 
AND  THE  EARL  OF  ESSEX 

IF  you  are  a  castle-lover  you  will  tarry  one  long 
day  at  least  at  Pembroke,  to  make  acquaintance 
there  with  its  superb  great  fortress.  The  fair, 
rural,  peaceful  neighbourhood  near  about  it  helps 
to  set  it  off.  But  it  has,  too,  a  change  of  wild  and 
waterside  scenery,  sea  and  river — Milford  Haven, 
Carew  Castle,  the  Stack  Rocks,  Nangle,  St.  David's. 
Those  who  make  any  longer  stay  may  be  pleased 
even,  though  they  are  not  antiquaries,  at  the  idea 
of  playing  lawn  tennis  within  the  walls  of  an  old 
castle,  and  crying  "  fifteen-love !  "  where  long  ago 
the  young  squires  shot  at  the  mark.  The  last,  best 
remembered  fatal  association  of  the  walls,  the 
siege  of  1648,  the  death  of  Colonel  Poyer,  lend 
them  only  pensive  memories  now. 

If  you  arrive  by  train,  you  have  to  traverse  the 
whole  length  of  the  town,  and  the  apparently 
endless  High  Street,  before  you  see  the  Castle. 
On  the  way  you  will  take  due  note  of  the  parish 
church  of  St.  Mary,  curiously  built-in  by  the  neigh- 
bouring houses  at  the  corner  of  Dark  Street  and 
opposite  the  Lion  Hotel.  Notice  the  Chapel  of 
St.  Thomas  on  the  west  side  of  the  building ;  here 

276 


PEMBROKE  CASTLE  277 

I  believe,  lies  the  body  of  a  murdered  knight  who 
figured  in  romance.  If  you  still  persist,  you  leave 
two  or  three  shops  and  a  subterranean  newspaper 
office  on  your  right,  and  then  spy  at  once  the 
entrance  to  the  Castle  on  the  same  side. 

The  Castle  is  set  on  a  strong  natural  site,  a  lime- 
stone rock,  rising  some  fifty  feet  from  the  river, 
which,  with  its  fork  to  the  west,  Monkton  Pill, 
surrounds  it  with  water  at  very  high  tides  for 
two-thirds  of  its  circuit.  Five  towers  and  five 
bastions  surrounded  and  kept  the  outer  court ; 
and  behind  the  chief  tower,  or  keep,  the  inner 
ward  was  placed  at  the  corner,  best  protected  by 
the  river  and  river-cliffs  from  attack.  Before  the 
days  of  cannon  and  mortars  the  place  must  have 
been  almost  impregnable — by  open  assault  at  any 
rate. 

On  entering  to-day  by  the  gatehouse  at  the 
south-east  corner,  you  have  to  keep  directly  oppo- 
site across  the  great  outer  court,  over  one  hundred 
yards  across.  The  gatehouse,  defended  by  its  two 
strong  towers,  was  arranged  to  be  partly  inde- 
pendent of  the  keep  and  the  cluster  of  domestic 
buildings  about  the  keep.  The  oldest  parts  of  the 
Castle  abut  on  the  keep,  which  is  climbable.  From 
the  top  you  have  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole 
surroundings,  and  if  it  be  full  tide  you  have  a 
notable  long  stretch  of  water  before  you,  far 
along  the  wide  miles  of  Milford  Haven,  skirting 
the  Pwllcrochan  Flats,  as  well  as  the  town  pill  or 
creek,  and  the  Monkham  pill  close  below.  To  the 
north  Precelly  Mountain  and,  a  little  left  of  it, 
Vrenny  Vawr  are  to  be  seen  when  the  air  is  clear. 
Towards  Tenby  you  have  a  sea-vista  opening 
between  the  high  grounds  and  the  two  ridges 
formed  by  the  Ridgeway  on  the  left  and  the 


278  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Portclew  hills  on  the  right,  and  the  range  of 
coast  where  the  latter  runs  out,  from  Swanslake 
to  Caldy.  Nearer  at  hand,  behold  across  Monkton 
Priory  the  trees  of  Orielton  and  the  Castleton 
ridge. 

The  nose  only  of  the  castle-peninsula  was  first 
fortified,  the  gateway  then  being  to  the  right  of  the 
keep  as  you  look  across  the  large  outer  court  to  the 
gatehouse.  Now,  having  been  as  high  as  you  can 
get  on  the  tower-top,  you  can  go  down  below  to  the 
Castle  cavern,  or  Wogan — Welsh,  "Ogov"  (ogovan) 
— a  cave.  This  is  to  be  reached  through  the  North 
Hall,  whence  a  flight  of  steps  and  a  dependent 
rope  on  the  far  side  conduct  you  to  it.  The  fine 
window  in  the  wall  was  opened  some  years  ago  by 
Mr.  Cobb.  The  water-gate,  or  sally-port,  as  he 
suggests,  appears  to  have  had  no  portcullis  or  other 
defences  such  as  the  imaginary  castle-builder  of 
to-day  would  expect  to  have  found.  To  envisage 
the  water-gate  from  without  you  must  follow  the 
path  round  the  water-side.  The  "Wogan  "  measures 
some  thirty-six  paces  long  by  twenty-eight  wide. 
Possibly  it  was  some  kind  of  cave-dwelling  first  of 
all:  then  Briton  and  Roman  used  a  part  of  the 
Castle  rock  for  a  fort ;  the  Welsh  re-used  it ;  so 
did  the  Normans.  As  you  explore  you  gradually 
unfold  in  Pembroke  Castle  the  intermittent  legend 
in  stone  of  its  broken  history. 

We  may  note  that  the  interior  height  of  the 
keep  is  75  feet,  and  that  its  hugeous  walls  ranged 
from  17  to  19  feet  thick  at  its  base,  and  from 
14  feet  6  inches  to  12  feet  6  inches  at  the  first 
and  second  floor  levels.  The  top  is  domed.  Its 
arrangements  are  all  plain  and  contemptuous  of 
all  our  ideas  of  comfort  through  its  five  stories. 
Its  builder,  says  Mr.  Cobb,  "must  have  had  ideas 


PEMBROKE  CASTLE  279 

like  those  of  the  builders  of  the  Great  Pyramid." 
There  is  some  Egyptian  mystery  about  it,  too.  to 
the  modern  spectator.  What  did  the  people  do 
in  it?  How  did  they  contrive  to  live  in  it? 
Truly  it  is  almost  impossible  to  conceive  that 
this  tower  was  the  seat  of  almost  regal  state. 
But  there  it  stands — "the  heart  of  Pembroke," 
as  one  has  called  it ;  "  the  keeper  of  the  King's 
haven,"  another ;  and  deserving  certainly  to 
count  among  the  nine  wonders  of  South  Wales. 
You  must  not  forget  the  Castle  was  but  the 
main  knot  and  warder  of  the  Pembroke  fortifi- 
cations. Leland  wrote :  "  The  towne  is  well 
waulled  and  hath  iii  gates,  by  est,  west,  and 
north,  of  the  wich  the  est  gate  is  fairest  and 
strongest,  having  a  faire  but  a  compasid  tour  not 
rofed,  in  the  entering  whereof  is  a  portcolys,  ex 
solido  ferro."  Of  these  erections  there  are  now 
but  very  imperfect  remains ;  the  north  gate  alone 
is  still  in  tolerable  repair. 

"  A  slender  fortress  of  stakes  and  turf  "  was  the 
beginning  of  Pembroke  Castle,  according  to  Gerald 
the  Welshman.  This  was  erected  by  Arnulf  de 
Montgomery  in  Henry  I.'s  reign.  But  before  that 
Cadwgan  of  Bleddyn  is  said  to  have  twice  besieged 
a  castle  of  Pembroke,  which  he  twice  failed  to  take. 
It  seems,  too,  no  very  solid  or  convenient  hold 
stood  here  in  the  early  twelfth  century,  because 
Gerald  de  Windsor  (grandfather  of  Gerald  the 
Welshman)  is  said  to  have  built  a  new  Castle  of 
Pembroke  then,  on  a  site  called  Congarth  Vechan. 
Is  it  possible  this  site  of  the  new  Castle  was  the 
present  site  ?  ("  Congl-garth-fechan,"  what  can 
one  make  of  that?)  Wherever  this  Castle  was,  it 
was  the  scene  of  one  of  the  wildest  exploits  in 
Welsh  history — the  abduction  of  Nest  by  Owain 


280  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

(ap  Cadwgan  ap  Bleddyn).  Nest  was  the  daughter 
of  Rhys  ap  Tewdur,  and  considered  the  most 
beautiful  woman  of  Wales  in  her  time.  When  she 
was  still  very  young  she  had  been  married  diplo- 
matically to  Gerald  de  Windsor  ;  and  it  can  be 
imagined  what  excitement  this  alliance  between 
two  famous  Welsh  and  Norman  houses  caused  in 
Wales.  Nest's  beauty  was  a  theme  for  song,  and 
when  her  kinsman  Cadwgan  gave  a  great  feast 
at  Cardigan,  her  fame  was  so  extolled  there  that 
his  son  Owain,  filled  with  wonder  and  excite- 
ment, decided  upon  a  visit  to  Pembroke  Castle 
to  see  her.  Her  beauty  proved  more  than  he 
could  bear  to  see,  and  he  formed  then  the  wild 
idea  of  returning  suddenly  with  a  strong  force, 
attacking  the  Castle,  and  carrying  her  off. 
Wild  as  the  scheme  was,  it  succeeded  perfectly. 
Gerald,  surprised,  narrowly  escaped  with  Nest's 
aid,  while  she  and  her  children,  and  "much 
plunder,"  were  carried  off  by  Owain  to  his  castle 
in  Powys-land. 

But  we  must  o'erstep  the  Middle  Ages  now,  to  the 
great  siege  of  Pembroke  town  and  castle,  in  Crom- 
well's time ;  following  his  successful  sieges  of 
Chepstow  and  Tenby,  the  latter  on  the  31st  of 
May,  1648.  On  the  6th  of  June  following  a  letter 
of  that  date  says  Cromwell  has  subdued  all  Wales 
except  Pembroke  Castle,  and  that  the  townsfolk 
have  "  their  horses  and  cows  on  the  thatch  of  their 
houses."  On  the  14th  Cromwell  describes  their 
firing  houses  in  the  town — "the  fire  runs  up  the 
hill  and  much  frights  them."  Finally,  after  some 
desperate  sallies,  when  Cromwell's  side  lost  heavily, 
the  water  was  cut  off  from  the  pipes  (some  of  the 
pipes  are  in  Tenby  Museum),  secretly  laid  to  the 
Castle  over  the  Mill  Bridge,  and  provisions  having 


PEMBROKE   CASTLE  281 

given  out,  town  and  Castle  were  surrendered  on 
July  llth.  Poyer,  the  hero  of  this  defence,  who 
had  fought  previously  for  Cromwell,  was  the  last 
to  suffer  for  its  stubborn  maintenance.  He  and 
Laugharne  and  Powell  were  doomed :  then  the 
sentence  was  compromised,  and  only  one  was  to 
die.  Lots  were  drawn  by  a  youngster  :  the  fatal 
lot  fell  to  Poyer,  and  he  was  shot  in  Covent  Garden, 
in  the  Piazza,,  April  21,  1649.  One  of  the  saddest 
of  family  mottoes  is  that  taken  in  consequence  by 
the  Poyer  family :  "  Sors  est  contra  me  " — "  Fate's 
against  me." 

Like  Carnarvon,  Pembroke  Castle  is  not  quite 
sure  in  which  of  its  towers  a  prince  was  born. 

Leland  says :  "  In  the  atter  ward  I  saw  the 
chaumbre  wher  King  Henry  VII.  was  borne,  in 
knowledge  whereof  a  chymmeney  is  new  made, 
with  the  arms  and  badges  of  Henry  vii." 

An  apartment  in  the  keep  is  now  pointed  out 
usually  as  his,  but  it  is  conjectured  that  the 
southern  towers  are  more  likely  to  have  been  the 
King's  quarters,  as  they  show  some  signs  of  Tudor 
alterations  and  adornments.  Henry  II.  and  John 
were  among  the  royal  visitors  here  too.  The 
builder  of  the  later  Edwardian  outer  castle,  the 
North  Hall,  was  probably  Montchesny,  who  was 
castellan  about  1300. 

On  leaving  the  Castle  you  can  go  down  Westgate 
Hill,  and  instead  of  crossing  Monkton  Bridge,  walk 
right  round  the  Castle  under  the  walls,  and  emerg- 
ing on  the  quay,  cross  Mill  Bridge,  where,  when 
the  water  is  well  up,  the  picture  is  luminous 
and  delightful  in  contrast — floating  masonry  and 
painted  water.  If  bound  for  Monkton  Priory,  you 
cross  the  Monkton  Bridge  at  the  foot  of  Westgate, 
and  then  turn  to  the  right  up  the  bank,  when  you 


282  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

see   the   Priory   Church   above  you,   whose  great 
length  is  imposing. 

The  unusual  length  of  the  church  is  balanced  by 
the  fine  tower.  It  was  designed  for  two  congrega- 
tions, one  of  the  Priory,  the  other  of  the  parish. 
For  long  the  former  part,  the  choir,  was  in  ruins, 
but  is  now  restored.  The  tower-top  is  said  to 
command  a  superb  view  of  the  town  and  Castle 
opposite  and  the  country  adjacent.  The  building 
has  marked  Norman  structural  points,  but  the 
windows  and  details  are  Early  English.  The 
Priory  farm  has  little  of  the  old  prior's  lodging 
left  now.  Sixty  or  seventy  years  ago,  remains  of 
the  cloisters  were  to  be  seen.  The  cloisters,  it  is 
evident,  must  have  added  greatly  to  the  architec- 
tectural  effect  of  the  whole. 

The  Priory  was  originally  attached  to  the  House 
of  Jayes  in  Normandy.  The  Prior's  Hall,  as  it  has 
sometimes  been  called,  standing  on  the  hill  ap- 
proaching, has  a  long,  low,  vaulted  chamber  on  the 
ground-floor,  partly  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock — 
now  used  as  a  schoolroom — and  other  chambers 
above,  one  with  a  fine  fireplace.  A  rough  outer 
staircase,  leading  to  the  upper  chambers,  existed 
up  to  about  thirty  years  ago.  A  little  later  the 
whole  was  restored  by  Mr.  Cobb,  of  Brecon. 
There  are  traces  of  other  old  buildings  in  Monk- 
ton,  which  point  to  a  priory  suburb  worthy  of 
the  castellated  town  over  the  water. 

Pembroke  had  a  very  fine  reputation  for  pirates, 
or  for  its  dealings  with  them,  in  Elizabethan  days. 
Among  them,  the  name  of  Edward  Herberde,  who 
was  the  great  Sir  John  Perrot's  man  formerly, 
opens  the  longest  and  strangest  episode.  Herberde 
captured  a  ship  with  a  salt  cargo  belonging  to  a 
Dutchman — Peter  Muncke,  and  put  some  of  his 


PEMBROKE   CASTLE  283 

men  aboard  her.  Next  night  a  storm  separated 
the  two  vessels,  and  Herberde's  rascals  took  the 
prize  into  Milford  Haven,  and  actually  sent  the 
unhappy  Dutch  skipper  with  two  of  the  crew  into 
the  town  to  sell  the  salt.  The -town  was  Pembroke. 
The  mayor,  however,  thought  the  affair  suspicious ; 
Muncke's  face  spoke  volumes  ;  and  a  word  aside 
with  him  explained.  The  mayor  made  some  pretext 
of  offering  the  salt  to  Sir  John  Perrot  at  Carew, 
and  repaired  thither  with  the  Dutch  skipper  and 
one  of  the  Herberde  gang.  Sir  John  was  delighted 
at  the  chance  of  booty  and  a  legal  swoop,  and  he 
and  the  Mayor  and  the  Dutchman  devised  a  night 
raid.  Two  boats  put  off  in  the  dark,  the  first 
containing  Muncke,  a  Captain  Hinde  in  Sir  John's 
service,  and  one  Rice  Thomas.  Sir  John  and  ten 
or  twelve  men  followed  in  the  second.  Muncke 
called  out  as  his  boat  drew  near  to  his  own  sailors 
on  board  to  seize  the  ship.  A  cry  of  "  Sir  John 
Perrot ! "  followed.  Three  or  four  of  the  rascals 
escaped  in  a  boat.  The  rest  were  captured  and 
taken  prisoner  to  Harfat.  When  the  booty  came 
to  be  divided  Sir  John  got  the  lion's  share,  half  the 
salt — five  tons  of  it  going  to  the  Mayor.  The  ship 
and  her  tackle  were  divided  between  two  Vaughans 
— John  "  the  customer,"  and  Richard,  deputy  of  Sir 
William  Morgan,  Vice-Admiral  of  South  Wales. 
Muncke  had  half  the  salt  for  his  solace,  but  he 
disappeared  before  the  trial  of  the  pirates  came  on 
at  Haverfordwest  Assizes,  and  Judge  Fetyplace  set 
the  rascals  free.  The  end  of  Herberde  was  grim 
enough.  He  had  brought  in  a  captured  cargo  of 
Gascon  wines,  which  Kift  (fine  name  for  a  sea  tale, 
Kift !)  the  local  Admiralty  man  had  seized  and  sold 
to  Sir  John  at  £7  a  tun.  Then  Herberde  was 
deserted  by  his  own  men,  who  no  doubt  counted 


284  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

him  an  unlucky  leader.  He  went  to  lodge  not  far 
from  Haroldston,  where  Sir  John  was  residing  at 
the  time,  and  the  knight's  threats  and  oaths 
uttered  against  and  about  him  so  terrified  him,  that 
he  cut  his  throat  in  his  lodging.  This  was  no  man 
for  a  pirate's  life,  you  may  think ;  but  then  Sir 
John's  oaths  were  tremendous  even  for  Elizabethan 
times.  He  owed  it  to  his  royal  sire  perhaps — but 
this  is  no  page  for  scandal. 

Beyond  old  Pembroke  lies  the  new  Pembroke 
of  the  dockyards.  One  thinks  of  Lewis  Morris — 
Lewis  o  Fon,  and  of  his  coast  and  harbour  survey, 
as  one  explores  the  place,  or  standing  at  the 
ferry  there,  watches  a  marvellously  nimble  and 
infernal-looking  electric-boat  dash  up  to  the  land- 
ing, the  water  a-wash  over  her  bows,  drop  an 
officer  ashore,  and  go  off  again  at  reckless  speed. 
One  thinks  of  him  because  he,  being  a  man  of 
imagination  and  of  large  constructive  ideas,  who 
thought  in  lead-mines  and  sea-harbours,  as  well  as 
in  lyric  measures  and  prose  idioms,  saw  the  oppor- 
tunities of  the  Welsh  coast  long  before  the  official 
folk  in  London  did.  In  1742  we  find  his  brother 
William  speaking  of  him  as  the  "  hydrographer," 
and  five  years  later  he  himself  writes  about  the 
maps  he  is  drawing.  He  was  appointed  Surveyor 
by  the  Admiralty  in  1737,  and  in  1748  published 
his  Plans  of  Harbours,  Bars,  Bays,  and  Roads  in 
St.  George's  Channel. 

One  summer  evening  we  were  tempted  to 
Lamphey  Palace  (pron.  Lanffey)  on  our  road 
Tenby-wards,  being  arrested  by  the  aspect  of 
Lamphey  village,  graciously  framed  by  the  trees 
of  Lamphey  Court.  We  found  a  back-way  opposite 
the  church,  which  served  as  a  short-cut,  and  inter- 
cepted the  wide  sweep  of  the  drive  across  the  park. 


PEMBROKE  CASTLE  285 

Not  being  sure  of  our  right  of  entry,  we  felt  rather 
like  Welsh  cattle-raiders  as  we  skirted  the  old 
wall  beyond,  bordering  the  orchards  and  kitchen 
gardens,  and  then  looked  up  to  see  the  east 
window  of  the  chapel  staring  at  us  out  of  an  ivied 
visage  across  the  green  close.  The  Palace  itself, 
as  Gower  left  it  in  1335  or  so,  may  have  consisted 
of  the  arcaded  hall  and  an  older  chapel  with 
irregular  outlying  buildings.  All  is  not  to  be 
safely  attributed  to  Bishop  Gower,  but  certainly 
the  arched  parapet  is  his  and  the  detached  out- 
look tower.  The  chapel  is  due  to  another  and 
later  hand  (some  say  Bishop  Vaughan).  It  is  a 
Perpendicular  building  ranged  above  a  ruined 
cloister.  The  Lamphey  stream  that  runs  by  the 
Palace  becomes  the  Pembroke  River.  The  original 
Welsh  name,  to  quote  Fenton,  was  Llanfydd — 
"  the  Welsh  for  Fanum  Sanctos  Fidei  Virginis — 
dedicated  to  St.  Faith."  "  The  first  instrument  I 
have  seen  dated  from  this  place  is  one  of  Bishop 
Richard  de  Carew,  A.D.  1259  ;  and  from  that  time 
the  occasional  residence  of  almost  all  the  bishops 
there  in  succession  may  be  traced,  particularly  of 
Gower,  Adam  Hoton,  and  Vaughan." 

One  or  two  larger  apartments,  reached  by  steps 
or  a  ladder  from  without,  including  the  so-called 
Red  Chamber  and  the  reception  Hall,  show  that 
the  Palace  was  one  of  much  state. 

The  parish  church  of  Lamphey  village  we  did 
not  visit.  It  has  an  old  font  and  piscina  worth 
seeing,  they  say.  Here  lived  in  his  susceptible 
years — and  it  is  a  memory  no  place  could  forget — 
the  great  Earl  of  Essex,  under  the  protection  of 
his  kinsman,  Richard  Devereux,  in  whose  favour 
Henry  VIII.  had  alienated  the  manor.  He  came 
of  a  gifted,  comely,  dangerous  house.  His  story 


286  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

is  in  part  that  of  Hamlet  (for  his  mother's  intrigue 
with  Leicester,  and  his  father's  death,  believed  by 
many  to  be  by  poison,  brought  tragedy  into  his 
very  childhood).  But  his  early  temper  was  gay; 
his  spirit  valorous  and  ambitious  ;  and  if  he  had 
a  dash  of  poetry,  he  was  not  moody,  save  by 
moments.  In  his  youth  he  had  a  rare  and  beauti- 
ful spirit,  according  to  those  who  knew  him :  it  is 
the  finer  image  of  young  Robert  Dudley  that  you 
see  stamped  on  the  green  arras  of  Lamphey.  Like 
Pryderi  in  the  Welsh  tale  of  this  country-side,  he 
was  brought  up  as  carefully  as  was  fit,  so  that  he 
became  the  fairest  youth  and  the  most  comely, 
and  the  best  skilled  in  all  good  games  of  any  in 
the  kingdom. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  BOSHERSTON  ROAD — SIR  GAWAIN  AND  ST. 
GOVAN'S  CHAPEL — HUNTSMAN'S  LEAP  AND  THE 
STACK  ROCKS — ANGLE — A  YOUNG  SEAL 

IT  was  a  changeable,  untrustable  morning,  the 
26th  of  September.  The  wind  was  veering  east 
to  south-east,  and  rain  fell  at  Whitland,  fell 
heavily.  Then  at  Pembroke  came  a  glimpse  of 
watery  sunshine.  No  one  could  have  told  how  the 
afternoon  would  turn  out  when  we  left  Pembroke 
about  one. 

We  dropped  out  of  the  town,  crossing  the  line  of 
the  rusty  old  town-walls  at  its  back,  to  the  river, 
which  reflected  a  sky  watery  as  itself.  Once  over 
the  bridge,  we  fell  to  debating  the  two  roads  to 
Bosherston :  one  shorter  and  rougher,  one  longer 
and  smoother  ?  At  that  moment  I  spied  a  man  with 
a  drover's  whip  going  in  the  same  direction.  He 
replied  with  a  husky,  eagerly  friendly  voice — and 
a  new  variety  of  the  Pembrokeshire  speech — to 
David's  salute. 

Yes,  he  knew  Bosherston  well,  and  St.  Govan's. 
Indeed,  he  knew  "  every  sheep-thrack  in  the 
country,  from  Holyhead  down  to  Chepstow  ! " 

His  face  was  Celtic;  he  spoke  Welsh,  though 
the  most  of  the  people  in  this  shore  did  not ; 
he  knew  the  country-side  like  a  native.  But 


288  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

when  David  asked,  "  Beth  yw'ch  enw  chi  ynte  ? " 
he  answered,  Michael  O'Brien. 

He  had  led  a  roving  life.  First  he  served  in  the 
army ;  then  came  three  heart-breaking  years  on 
the  sick-list,  and  he  seemed  done  for  altogether. 
At  last  he  chanced  to  take  a  drover's  place,  and 
the  open  road  and  the  fresh  air  gradually  cured 
his  army  ailments  and  ague  ;  and  now  he  had  led 
the  life  long  enough  to  have  travelled  all  over 
Wales  and  Ireland,  and  well  up  into  Scotland  too. 
He  wore  a  brick-red  kerchief  round  his  throat, 
which  gave  a  touch  of  colour  to  his  figure,  other- 
wise all  of  a  drover's  dusty  brown.  He  talked, 
delighting  in  his  own  voice,  with  an  expressive 
rush  of  words,  slightly  aspirating  his  s's  : — 

"  Kilkenny's  the  shnuggest  small  town  in  the 
whole  counthry.  Stands  well  it  does,  and  looks 
well.  Not  a  big  place  :  five  or  six  thousand,  that's 
about  all.  'Tis  a  nice-lookin'  little  town,  ah,  'tis 
that.  A  man  could'n'  wish  for  a  nisher." 

He  knew  the  difference  between  north  and 
south-country  Welsh ;  but  here  there  was  no 
Welsh,  and  poor  enough  English. 

"  I'm  working  for  a  sheep-farmer  now ;  an'  he's 
a  Welshman ;  an'  he  can't  speak  a  word  of  Welsh  ; 
but  I  CAN  !  "  he  said  this  ending  with  a  triumphant 
crescendo.  He  told  us  what  turns  to  take  for  the 
quicker  of  two  roads  to  Bosherston,  and  we  parted 
at  the  gate  of  a  sheep-field.  Two  miles  further  on, 
and  down  came  the  rain  again,  with  the  wind 
going  round  in  the  south-west — rain  that  was  spilt 
from  a  bucket,  wetting  one  through  in  a  few 
minutes.  We  sheltered  from  it  under  some  ash- 
trees — and  very  poor  shelter  ash-trees  make.  In 
ten  minutes  it  was  over. 

The  best  prelude  to  the  treeless  tract  of  coast 


THE  BOSHERSTON  ROAD  289 

from  St.  Govan's  to  the  Stack  Rocks  is  to  skirt  the 
plantations  of  Stackpool  Court.  We  sped  fast,  by 
the  winding,  skirting,  slow-descending  road,  past  a 
mile  of  woodland  and  parkland  that  begged  for 
lazy  days  and  a  long  acquaintance.  The  figure  of 
Sir  Gawain,  a  ghost  in  rusty  armour,  ought  to 
start  there  : — 

".   .  .  On  the  morne  merrily  he  rides 
Into  a  forest  full  deep,  that  was  wondrous  wild." 

i 
But  the  fear  of  more   rain   and   the   thought  of 

Gawain's  or  St.  Govan's  Chapel  drew  us  on.  At 
Bosherston  the  wind  was  terrific,  and  gave  one 
a  wildish  idea  of  what  was  to  come.  However, 
there  was  a  lull  as  we  reached  the  cliffs,  and  the 
setting  of  the  chapel,  built  across  the  sea-cwm  so 
as  effectually  to  close  it  up,  was  like  nothing  else 
we  had  seen  on  any  coast  and  made  us  forget  the 
gale. 

The  strangeness  of  the  site,  indeed,  is  such  as  to 
make  one  remember  that  the  tribal  chiefs  who 
became  hermits  were  given  to  fix  their  hibernating 
cells  in  places  of  utter  isolation.  The  story  of  Sir 
Gawain  needs  humouring  to  be  adapted  to  suit  all 
the  necessities  of  the  case.  The  later  romances 
say  he  was  buried  at  Dover  Castle,  while  William 
of  Malmesbury  says  he  lies  at  Rhoose  in  this  shire  ; 
and  the  geography  of  his  life  is  equally  puzzling. 
But  then  romance  figures  are  a  kind  of  composite 
portraits,  and  Gawain  underwent  more  changes 
than  most  of  them.  His  names,  Gwalchmai, 
Walwayne,  Gawain,  Go  wan,  Go  van,  Galvanus,  &c., 
suggest  it.  His  literary  pedigree  is  longer  than 
Arthur's  ;  his  character  goes  through  wild  trans- 
migrations ;  he  is  fearless,  chivalrous,  devoted ; 

19 


290  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

cruel,  treacherous,  faithless.  His  decadence,  it  is 
significant  to  note,  begins  with  his  attachment  to 
the  story  of  the  Sangraal.  However,  to  connect 
him  with  St.  Govan  and  place  him  in  the  saints' 
calendar,  we  have  to  recall  that  he  touches  St. 
David.  At  St.  David's  Cathedral  there  is  a  miseri- 
cord which  shows  a  curious  deep-bottomed  ferry- 
boat, one  of  whose  passengers  is  overtaken  by  sea- 
sickness. This  hero,  according  to  tradition,  is  St. 
Govan.  The  clue  is  enough  to  relate  him  to  his 
chapel  as  a  sea-hermit  who  went  and  suffered  by 
sea.  That  afterwards  his  roving  and  predatory 
life  and  adventures  were  worked  up  in  romance, 
while  his  sanctity  was  forgotten,  is  nothing.  The 
making  of  the  romantic  lay-figure  out  of  an  old 
tribal  chief  is  often  a  most  erratic  process,  subject 
to  the  dullness  of  one  redactor  and  the  vagaries  of 
another. 

A  very  impressive  folk-tale,  one  which  would 
have  appealed  to  Tolstoi,  is  told  of  St.  Govan's. 

Once  a  farmer  was  sowing  barley  in  the  down- 
land  above  the  chapel  when  he  saw  a  stranger  of 
noble  mien  who  stood  by  watching  him. 

"  That  seed  you  are  sowing  will  decay,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  farmer,  "  it  will  rot,  sure 
enough ;  but  it  will  spring  again,  and  at  harvest- 
time  I  will  come  and  gather  the  ripe  grain  with 
my  sickle." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  which  is  dead  can  come  to 
life  and  live  again  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then,"  said  the  stranger  with  an  air  of  majesty, 
"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.  Go  then, 
fetch  thy  sickle  and  cut  thy  corn." 

The  farmer  went.     On  his  return  the  stranger 


THE  BOSHERSTON  ROAD  291 

had  gone.  But  the  barley  which  he  had  sown  was 
ripe  and  ready  for  cutting  that  same  day. 

The  essential  thing  at  St.  Govan's  is  to  believe 
in  the  Saint's  reality  ;  a  man  torn  by  passions,  who 
fasted  and  fought  the  flesh  and  the  devil  for  a  time 
in  this  strait  cleft  by  the  sea.  The  other  alterna- 
tive is  to  turn  vandal  and  tourist,  and  in  contempt 
throw  a  stone  into  the  desecrated  holy  well,  where 
so  many  a  poor  creature  came  to  kneel  and  pray 
and,  with  clay  on  the  blind  eyes  or  the  hurt  limb, 
hope  for  cure. 

A  wilder  sou'-westerly  gale  we  could  not  have 
wished  for,  to  lend  expression  to  a  wild  coast,  than 
that  we  met  on  reaching  the  cliff-top  again ;  we 
felt  its  full  fury  in  crossing  the  head  of  each 
successive  chasm,  up  which  it  blew  with 
tremendous  buffets  that  fairly  made  one  stagger. 
And  the  sea,  running  in  with  immense  ocean- 
waves  at  an  angle,  struck  the  rocky  spurs  with  a 
force  that  sent  white  sheets  up  to  the  top  of  the 
cliffs  and  scattered  foam  like  snow  on  our  coat- 
sleeves.  It  was  a  delicious  experience  to  lie  down 
on  the  jutting  brink  of  the  cliff  at  some  sharper 
edge  and  watch  this  foam  and  taste  the  salt  spray, 
waiting  for  the  terrific  ninth  wave  that  should 
out-top  nature.  That  is  a  sensation  you  can  get, 
no  doubt,  on  other  parts  of  this  coast.  But  rifts 
like  the  Huntsman's  Leap  are  quite  outside  one's 
ordinary  experience.  "They  wait,"  says  one 
traveller,  "for  their  victim  with  a  stealthy 
pretence  of  guileless  grass  and  smooth  turf.  A 
narrow  ditch  you  think  you  can  jump  opens  at 
your  feet :  subterque  cavis  grave  rupibus  antrum  et 
vacuum — it  is  sixty  fathom  deep,  and  he  that  slips 
is  lost." 

The    story    of    Huntsman's    Leap    is    that    the 


292  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

hunter  following  the  hounds  made  a  short-cut,  as 
he  thought,  in  full  career,  and  coming  suddenly  to 
the  cleft  leapt  it  safely.  But  his  nerves  could  not 
stand  that  horrid  glimpse  of  the  earth's  rent  abyss 
and  watery  entrails,  and  he  died  from  the  sheer 
after-gust  of  the  experience.  The  story  is  about 
as  old  as  St.  Grovan's  Chapel ;  but  in  our  time  a 
young  man  deliberately  attempted  the  leap,  slipped 
his  foot,  and  "  came  off  "  as  the  climbers  say,  with 
what  result  you  may  imagine.  The  dry,  slippery 
turf  in  hot  weather  is  far  more  treacherous  than 
the  actual  stone  edges  that  warn  you  away. 

Though  there  were  fresh  wheel-marks  on  the 
rough  road  westward  from  Huntsman's  Leap,  we 
did  not  see  a  soul  all  the  way  to  the  Stack  Rocks. 
An  old  limekiln  on  the  cliffs  in  one  place,  a 
ruined  cottage  or  two  a  little  inland,  and  some 
sheep  in  a  seaward  field — these  were  our  only 
company. 

We  were  afraid  we  had  passed  the  Stack  Rocks, 
when  approaching  a  coast-guard's  look-out  cabin 
we  spied  the  gap  where  they  stand.  The  sea- 
birds  we  had  been  told  to  expect  there  in  clouds 
were  not  to  be  seen.  Only  one  or  two  grey  gulls 
were  flying  wild  a  short  pitch  away.  The  sea 
made  up  for  all  lack  of  bird-life.  Had  we  not 
been  so  hungry  we  could  have  watched  it  for 
hours  break  and  shatter  itself  on  the  rocks  below, 
for  there  was  something  hypnotising  in  the  coil 
and  recoil  of  the  breakers. 

Another  mile  after  passing  the  Stack  Rocks, 
you  reach  the  tremendously  built  outpost  of  this 
limestone  peninsula  at  Linney  Head.  After  that 
the  limestone  gives  out,  and  the  Old  Red  Sand- 
stone puts  in  at  Freshwater  Bay. 

We  were  too  tired  by  our  battle  with  the  wind 


THE  BOSHERSTON   ROAD  293 

to  go  and  look  for  the  old  forts  near  this  corner. 
The  last  indignity  it  offered  was  to  blow  out 
David's  matches  when  he  tried  to  light  a  pipe. 
So,  without  waiting  to  see  Brownslade  or  the 
Brimstone  Rock,  we  gave  up  the  struggle  and 
turned  our  backs  on  it,  with  Castle  Martin  and  a 
hoped-for  Castle  Inn  for  goal.  We  rode  fast, 
the  wind  behind  us,  and  presently  beyond  a  wide 
dip  saw  an  imposing  church  tower  and  spire  ;  "  no 
doubt  Castle  Martin  ! "  It  proved  to  be  Warren : 
a  farm-house  and  a  few  cottages  were  the  only 
community,  and  there  was  no  inn  or  shop  to  be 
seen.  Another  mile  took  us  to  Castle  Martin. 
But  again  there  was  no  inn  ;  and  we  were  advised 
in  our  state  of  ravening  hunger  to  apply  at  a 
cottage  in  a  lane.  Its  mistress  was  taken  by 
surprise,  but  a  good  toasting-fire  provided  toast 
and  a  teapot,  while  a  village  ancient  sat  by  and 
told  us  there  were  no  inns  on  the  Stackpool  estate, 
and  the  nearest  was  at  Angle. 

"There,"  said  he,  "you  can  have  your  tay  if 
ye  like  on  the  housetop  :  for  'tas  a  flat  roof  to  it." 

It  was  almost  twilight  when  we  took  the  road 
for  Angle,  and  luckily  the  wind  had  dropped  with 
the  day.  The  road  crossed  a  wildish  stretch  of 
high  moorland,  then  dropped  to  the  sea,  where 
our  wheels  ran  through  soft  sand.  A  climb 
brought  us  to  high  ground  again  for  another 
short  mile  from  which  the  descent  was  steep 
and  tree-darkened,  toward  Angle  and  its  bay. 
The  lights  were  twinkling  there  in  the  cottage 
windows  as  we  ran  by  three  soldiers  and  reached 
the  village.  The  inn  was  dark.  A  rather  dubious 
lad  came  to  the  door,  who  did  not  hold  out  much 
hope  of  accommodation.  The  only  parlour  down- 
stairs was  full  of  soldiers  talking  noisily  about 


294  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

South  Africa,  so  we  made  our  way  into  a  long, 
high-raftered  kitchen,  with  a  very  hot  outstanding 
stove  in  full  blast.  On  the  table  were  pots  of 
newly-made  blackberry- jam  ;  a  small,  pretty  child, 
a  girl  of  four,  was  playing  with  some  toys  ;  a  fine 
yellow  collie  called  Nell  came  in,  and  threw  herself 
down  by  the  stove. 

The  heat  soon  drove  us  out  into  the  common- 
room,  where  a  young  fisherman  sat  drinking  a 
pint  of  ale.  We  fell  into  talk  about  the  fishing, 
the  forts,  the  soldiers,  and  so  forth.  Presently, 
for  want  of  something  better  to  say,  I  asked  if 
they  ever  came  on  seals  in  these  waters  ? 

His  reply  surprised  me :  "  Ye  can  see  one  now 
at  Mr.  Boothes' ! " 

It  appeared  that  a  young  seal  had  been  caught 
and  killed  on  the  rocks  near  the  bay  that  after- 
noon by  Tom  Boothes.  Later  in  the  evening  a 
youngster  volunteered  to  guide  me  to  his  house 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  village. 

The  boy  took  me  under  the  stars  to  a  dark 
door  of  an  apparently  darker  house.  A  girl,  as  she 
seemed,  slight,  black-haired,  pretty,  came  to  the 
door,  and  asked  us  in. 

The  dead  seal  lay  in  a  back-kitchen — a  small 
pool  of  red  blood  on  the  flags  at  his  grey,  kitten- 
like  head.  He  was  very  light  grey  in  colour,  with 
pale  buff  bands  or  patches  relieving  the  body- 
colour,  and  he  was  surprisingly  fat.  The  scene 
with  the  young  mistress  of  the  house  standing 
there,  naked  candle  in  hand,  and  throwing  the 
light  on  the  poor  little  beast,  was  not  one  for 
a  mere  scribe  to  describe.  We  were  still  examin- 
ing it,  when  its  captor  returned.  He  did  not 
know  how  to  skin  it,  or  whether  to  sell  it,  or 
what  to  do  with  it.  His  wife  was  more  practical. 


THE  BOSHERSTON  ROAD  295 

She  had  often  skinned  birds  and  rabbits.  "  If 
you  could  skin  a  rabbit,  you  could  skin  a  seal," 
she  said. 

There  was  another  pause,  for  Boothes  had  three 
confederates  who  must  be  consulted. 

The  conference  took  place  in  the  dark  road 
under  the  stars,  and  the  result  was  the  four  men 
undertook  to  skin  the  seal  and  bring  the  skin 
to  the  inn  that  night.  They  discussed  the  opera- 
tion with  extraordinary  gravity,  as  one  that  might 
easily  be  rendered  fatal. 

"  See  here,"  said  the  smallest  of  the  four,  whose 
face  I  could  not  discern,  "you  have  to  keep  all 
his  fat  on,  else  the  skin  'ull  speal;  and  some  'ill 
keep  his  fins,  and  some  wint.  'Tis  a  ticklish 
thing ;  ye.  ought  to  allow  for  that,  mister ! " 

Finally,  the  price  agreed,  I  went  back  to  the 
inn,  and  being  tired  out,  waited  a  while  and  so 
to  bed.  Towards  midnight  the  seal-captors 
arrived  with  the  skin,  and  next  morning  we 
dressed  it  inside  with  rough  salt,  and  packed  it 
up.  It  weighed  over  thirteen  pounds,  fat  and 
all,  and  the  Post  Office  refused  it  as  overweight. 
So  Mercury  and  I  had  perforce  to  carry  it  all 
the  way  to  Pembroke  in  a  cardboard  box,  which 
caused  many  people  to  stare  at  us  mildly  en  route. 

Mr.  Whiting,  of  Hampstead,  to  whom  the  skin 
was  sent  to  be  cured,  was  not  very  hopeful  about 
it.  September  was  the  wrong  season,  and  this 
was  the  wrong  kind  of  seal.  However,  his  skill 
saved  it.  But  I  do  not  encourage  others  to  take 
Welsh  seals  :  they  are  too  human  in  their  spirit. 

George  Owen,  in  his  Description  of  Pembroke- 
shire, gives  a  curious  account  of  seals  and  their 
fur  in  his  chapter  on  "  the  severall  sorte  of  fishe 
taken  in  this  shire." 


296  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

The  seal  is  "broad-pawed"  he  says,  "like  to  the  moale," 
and  it  ' '  cometh  to  land  to  rest  and  sleep  and  lie  together 
in  herds  like  swine  one  upon  another  ;  and  at  byrth  time,  as 
Plynie  saieth  cometh  a  land  and  is  delivered  and  giveth 
sucke  to  the  yonge,  till  he  able  to  swymme  wch  he  saieth 
wilbe  in  xij  daies.  .  .  .  The  fawne  at  the  first  is  white,  and 
is  more  delicate  meate  than  his  Ancestor  being  strong  and 
fullsome  to  eate.  Yet  is  yt  accompted  a  dayntye  and  a 
rare  dishe  of  manie  men.  This  fishe  is  verie  fatte,  as  Bacon, 
and  the  skynne  serveth  to  manie  uses  being  dressed,  especi- 
allie  in  tymes  past  for  covering  of  tentes,  because  yt  re- 
ceiveth  no  hurt  by  lightninges  as  saieth  Plynie,  li,  2  cap.  55. 
And  saieth  Rondele — this  li.  46,  cap.  6,  the  here  of  the 
seale  stareth  at  the  south  windes,  and  goeth  smooth  wth 
the  North  ;  but  certaine  yt  is  yt  doeth  so  at  the  fflood  and 
ebbe,  staring  with  the  one  and  smoothing  with  the  other." 

To  stare  is  to  become  stiff  and  stark.  With 
the  seal  George  Owen  ranks  the  "  Porpisse "  and 
the  "  Thornepole,"  or  the  porpoise  and  grampus. 
All  three,  he  says,  "  being  ravenouse  by  nature 
followe  the  sculls  [shoals]  of  heringes  feeding 
on  them,  and  are  often  taken  wrapped  in  the 
herring-nets." 

The  only  other  seal  I  have  come  across  in  South 
Wales  was  off  Diuas  Island,  North  Pembrokeshire. 
But  that  episode  belongs  to  another  page. 

The  Welsh  for  a  seal  is  "  moelrhon  " — bald-tail, 
shortened  into  "  molrho."  Gwilym  Dyved  speaks 
of  the  creature  in  one  of  his  odes  : — 

"Bald-head,  bald-tail, — see  him  rise! 
Ware  him  :  he  hath  woman's  eyes  ; 
Ware  him,  where  he  lies  asleep. 
Years  before  he  knew  the  deep, 
Three  salt  tears  his  change  began 
When  he  changed  from  mortal  man." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MILFORD  AND  MILFOBD  HAVEN — GEORGE  OWEN  OF 
HENLLYS  —  DALE — BRUNT  FARM  —  MARLOES  — 
SKOMAR  ISLAND 

COUNTING  on  American  liners  or  revived  dock- 
yards, Milford  in  its  time  has  suffered  many 
disappointments.  Finally,  having  seen  its  last 
whaler  go  to  Dundee  or  otherwhere,  it  has 
settled  down  to  a  pretty  secure  trawling  business, 
and  owns  a  fair  fleet  of  steam  trawlers,  which 
transfer  their  fish  to  the  Great  Western  Railway 
at  its  terminus  here.  So  Milford  mackerel,  I 
suppose,  may  yet  become  as  much  a  proverb  as 
Yarmouth  bloaters.  The  Haven's  vast  natural 
advantages,  and  its  chances  of  yet  negotiating  a 
new  great  Transatlantic  line,  give  the  town,  the 
Haven,  and  whole  neighbourhood  a  potential 
air. 

The  town  station  is  set  back  in  the  cwm  or 
valley  of  Priory  Pill,  rather  inconveniently  placed 
for  the  town,  which  spreads  its  streets  mathemati- 
cally on  the  rising  ground  above.  If  you  want 
a  bird's-eye  view  the  small  hill  of  Hubberston, 
about  a  mile  west,  to  be  gained  via  Dock  Street 
and  the  Quay,  commands  at  a  glance  the  town, 
the  Haven,  and  its  surroundings. 

Milford  Haven  was  for  long  the  one  proverbial 

297 


298  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

great  harbour  of  British  tradition.  Kings  em- 
barked there  for  Ireland ;  Shakespeare  often  chose 
it  as  the  scene  of  the  coming  and  going  of  his 
characters,  such  as  "Cymbeline."  People  can  be 
found,  indeed,  who  believe  Shakespeare  himself 
visited  Milford.  As  for  Nelson,  there  is  no  doubt 
at  all  about  his  visit  after  the  Battle  of  the  Nile, 
when  he  was  hero  of  the  seas.  Milford  the  port 
began  its  career  through  the  direct  agency  of 
Lady  Hamilton's  husband — Sir  William — and  his 
nephew,  Charles  Greville,  who  succeeded  to  the 
property.  The  new  hotel  built  in  Nelson's  honour, 
"The  Lord  Nelson,"  no  longer  looks  new.  Sir 
William  Hamilton  lies  buried  in  the  church  which 
Greville  built, — and  it  contains  a  red  porphyry 
vase  inscribed  to  Nelson's  memory. 

The  Haven  can  be  best  explored  by  boat  from 
Milford  Quay.  Seizing  the  tide,  it  is  possible  to 
sail  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  get  a 
glimpse  of  both  the  Block  Houses,  and  return 
in  an  afternoon.  The  water  excursions  beyond 
Neyland  and  Pembroke  in  the  Cleddau  estuaries 
and  pills  are  endless. 

George  Owen,  of  Henllys,  gives  in  his  Pembrokeshire 
records  a  most  quotable  account  of  Milford  Haven  in  1595. 
"  And  for  forme,"  he  said,  "the  ha  von  may  well  be  likened 
to  the  picture  of  some  greate  crooke  and  forked  Tree  having 
many  branches  and  bunches  some  greate  some  litle  growe- 
inge  even  up  from  the  butt  to  the  Toppe ;  and  the  same 
branches  being  lopped  and  cut  off,  some  neere  and  some 
farre  from  the  bodye  of  the  Tree  (from  the  crookednes  downe) 
the  picture  of  such  tree  might  soe  be  drawne  as  the  same 
should  well  describe  the  true  forme  of  this  harborowe  and 
every  branch  and  creeke  thereof."  Modern  maps  do  not 
show  the  "forked  Tree"  so  well  as  the  map  George  Owen 
made  of  the  Haven ;  but  if  the  map  of  Pembrokeshire  is 
turned  so  that  the  east  forms  the  top  of  it,  instead  of  the 


8 

o 
H 

Q      SB 

1      S 


O      'g 

«       I 


MJLFORD  AND  MILFORD  HAVEN      299 

north,  the  resemblance  is  clear  enough.  George  Owen  was 
anxious  to  have  the  harbour  fully  fortified.  The  Block 
Houses  at  Dale  and  Nangle  were  prompted  by  a  similar  fear 
of  invasion.  Some  of  his  names,  such  as  Prix  Pill,  for  Castle 
Pill,  and  the  Carne,  for  the  Carrs,  have  been  altered  since 
his  day.  The  "Haking,"  which  is  the  Milford  Pill  in  especial, 
is  by  him  called  the  Priory  Pill.  He  describes  it  as  "a  creeke 
that  turneth  uppe  on  the  Easte  parte  of  Hubberston  pointe 
and  reacheth  up  farre  into  the  land  untill  the  Priory  house 
being  a  myle  in  the  land,  yt  it  is  all  owse "  (ooze,  or  mud), 
"and  therefore  no  good  landing  there.  This  pill  is  dry  at 
lowe  water." 

On  the  bluff  point  of  St.  Ann's  Head,  two  miles 
south  of  Dale  village,  are  two  lighthouses. 

Brunt  Farm,  on  the  coast,  just  within  the  corner 
of  Mill  Bay,  preserves  the  tradition  that  there, 
where  a  steep  path  descends  to  the  foot  of  Brunt 
cliff,  Henry  VII.  landed,  as  Earl  of  Richmond,  not 
knowing  what  fate  had  in  store  for  him.  Finding 
the  climb  up  the  craggy  cliff  a  heavy  one,  "  this," 
said  he,  "  is  brunt ! "  At  the  top  of  the  cliff  stood 
a  wise-woman  of  Dale,  who,  after  a  glance  at 
him,  vowed  that  fortune  and  a  kingdom  would  be 
his. 

From  West  Dale  Bay,  by  Marloes  Bay,  crossing 
thence  the  Woolpack  mile-wide  peninsula,  and  so  to 
Marloes,  offers  a  coast  adventure  worth  the  trouble. 
Quarters  may  be  had  at  Marloes,  if  one  is  not  too 
exacting.  The  cliffs  above  Marloes  sands  are  such 
as  to  call  out  the  new  stone-men's  raptures ;  and 
the  beach  is  noted  for  its  fine  cowrie-shells.  The 
men  of  Marloes  used  to  be  nicknamed  "Marloes 
gulls  " ;  and  they  appear  to  have  used  this  charac- 
ter of  theirs  as  a  cloak  for  sharper  qualities  ;  for 
they  were,  in  the  old  time,  the  most  notorious 
wreckers  on  this  coast. 


300  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

From  Marloes,  or  to  be  exact,  from  Martin's 
Haven,  it  is  a  short  but  sometimes  very  nasty 
crossing  to  Skomar  Island.  The  following  notes 
of  a  naturalist  (the  writer's  uncle,  Mr.  Percy 
Percival,  of  Berrow  Manor)  well  describe  the  wild 
colony  of  birds  there : — 

' '  A  vast  number  of  sea-birds  breed  on  Skomar  Island,  the 
most  peculiar  of  them  all  being  the  Manx  Shearwater.  These 
queer  creatures  confine  themselves  to  the  rabbit-holes  during 
the  day,  and  only  come  out  in  the  dark,  when  they  fly  about 
close  overhead,  making  a  noise  about  which  there  is  some- 
thing truly  uncanny.  The  young  are  reared  in  those  holes, 
and  they  seem  to  be  full  of  oil  which  is  most  offensive.  I 
had  one  in  my  pocket  and  unfortunately  went  to  sleep  and 
crushed  the  poor  downy  little  thing  ;  as  a  consequence  the 
coat  was  months  before  it  was  reasonably  free  from  the  oily 
smell. 

"The  Stormy  Petrels  nest  and  bring  up  their  young 
in  the  stone  walls  which  take  the  place  of  hedges  on  the 
Island.  It  amused  me  to  see  the  boys  looking,  or  rather 
smelling,  for  eggs,  for  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  find  them  by 
scent — walking  along  close  to  the  wall,  sniffing  at  the  holes — 
then  stopping  and  going  back  a  few  paces,  twisting  their 
heads  about  to  get  the  scent  like  an  old  hound— finally  they 
locate  the  hole,  and  pulling  out  a  few  stones  soon  get  out  the 
eggs,  which  are  white  and  have  a  strong  unpleasant  scent, 
which  they  retain  for  a  long  time  after  being  placed  in  the 
egg  cabinet. 

' '  The  common  Guillemots  are  in  thousands,  while  the 
ringed  variety  are  often  met  with.  How  these  birds  hatch 
their  eggs  and  raise  their  young  on  a  narrow  shelf  of  rock, 
scarcely  wide  enough  for  foothold,  is  a  mystery  ;  luckily  they 
are  of  a  friendly  disposition,  for  the  least  quarrelling  between 
the  birds  would  send  the  eggs  into  the  sea,  hundreds  of  feet 
below,  so  close  are  the  eggs  together  ;  no  doubt  the  peculiar 
shape  of  the  eggs,  i.e.,  very  narrow  at  one  end  and  broad  at 
the  other,  prevents  them  rolling  off  the  shelf. 

"  Puffins,  too,  are  very  numerous,  and  look  like  long  rows 
of  white-breasted,  black- backed  soldiers,  as  they  range  them- 


MILFORD  AND  MILFORD  HAVEN      301 

selves,  quaint  and  motionless,  along  the  edges  of  the  cliff. 
They  breed  in  rabbits'  holes,  or  scoop  out  holes  for  them- 
selves if  the  soil  is  soft ;  when  bringing  in  food  for  their 
young,  small  sprats  or  other  like  fish,  they  arrange  the  fish 
so  that  the  heads  are  in  the  bird's  mouth  and  the  bodies  and 
tails  hang  out  on  either  side,  and  look  as  if  they  had  a 
brilliant  silver  beard  ;  when  bringing  in  food  they  usually 
stand  for  a  short  time  beside  their  holes,  then  walk  quaintly 
in  to  give  the  meal.  These  birds  are  only  too  easily  caught 
in  the  breeding  season,  and  many  of  them,  sad  to  relate,  are 
used  for  bait  in  the  lobster-pots.  The  Oyster-Catcher,  or 
Sea-Pie,  breeds  on  the  Island,  and  at  least  one  pair  of 
Peregrine  Falcons  manages  to  raise  a  nest  of  young,  though 
the  egg-collector  too  often  manages  to  find  them.  Rabbits 
are  the  most  certain  market-product  of  the  Island.  Stoats 
and  weasels  are  not  seen,  though  they  with  the  polecat  are 
met  with  on  the  nearest  mainland. 

' '  Getting  to  the  Island  is  best  managed  from  Martin's 
Haven.  It  should  only  be  attempted  with  experienced  boat- 
men, as  Jack's  Sound,  with  its  swift  current,  runs  'twixt  the 
Island  and  Pembrokeshire — a  pretty  dangerous  obstacle  to 
negotiate. 

"There  is  a  mouse,  I  may  add,  peculiar  to  Skomar, 
differing  in  some  slight  manner  from  the  ordinary  English 
mouse." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SOLVA — ST.  DAVID'S — CITY  AND  CATHEDRAL — NON 
AND  HER  CHAPEL — THE  HEAD  AND  CARN  LLIDI 
— THE  STORY  OF  BOIA 

THE  old  approach  to  St.  David's  was  always  via 
Haverfordwest,  whence  you  had  the  proverbial 
heart-breaking  road  to  traverse — "  sixteen  miles 
and  seventeen  hills."  Still  there  were  alleviations 
by  the  way.  There  was  Roche  Castle,  six  miles 
out  from  "Harfat,"  as  the  country  people  call 
what  was  once  their  chief  country  town.  This 
Castle  since  I  last  passed  that  road  has  been  put 
in  repair.  The  present  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer was  its  tenant  with  his  family  for  a  brief 
holiday  one  autumn,  when  he  asked  the  present 
vagrom  Chronicler  of  the  Principality,  who  was 
fast-tied  in  town,  to  visit  him  there — one  of  those 
lost  opportunities  that  never  return.  Roche  Castle, 
I  have  little  doubt,  will  be  the  scene  in  days  to 
come  of  a  new  George-and-Dragon  myth,  of 
which  Welsh  folk-lore  is  rather  in  need  as  the 
case  stands.  The  Castle  was  built  in  the  second 
rally  of  the  Normans  in  South  Wales  by  Adam 
de  Rupe. 

Half  a  league  further  on,  and  you  drop  down 
upon  the  shore  by  a  steep  descent  at  Newgale 
Bridge.  This  is  the  boundary  between  Little- 

302 


SOLVA  AND  ST.   DAVID'S  303 

England-beyond- Wales  and  theLittle- Wales  beyond 
that  again.  On  one  side  of  the  bridge  the  Anglo- 
Flemish  stock  prevails,  and  English  is  spoken ; 
on  the  other,  the  country  is  Welsh  in  speech 
and  thought.  The  inn  at  Newgale  Bridge  has 
always  seemed  to  me  one  of  those  places  ordained 
for  romance  in  the  Stevensonian  sense.  It  may  be 
compared  by  the  Sentimental  Traveller  with  that 
at  Leith  Ferry  or,  if  he  have  ever  been  to  Seaton 
Sluice  on  the  Northumberland  coast,  with  the  "  Blue 
Anchor"  there.  "Once,"  writes  that  same  Tra- 
veller, "  returning  from  Solva,  I  intended  to  take 
the  mail-gig  back  from  Newgale  Bridge,  after 
exploring  the  stretch  of  coast  where  St.  Elvis 
and  Pointz  Castle  stand.  On  the  way  a  tempting 
sandy  cove  at  the  foot  of  a  green  cwm  led  me  to 
descend,  and  idly  loitering  there  I  noticed  presently 
that  the  tide  was  advancing  and  cutting  off  the 
next  rocky  corner  at  a  wild  Pembrokeshire  pace. 
Thereupon  I  turned  back  to  the  other  horn  of 
the  bay,  but  before  I  could  reach  it  the  waves 
were  breaking  over  the  ridges.  The  only  way  of 
escape  left  was  up  the  cliff,  which  did  not  look 
too  formidable.  Unluckily  at  a  third  of  the  way 
up  a  patch  of  loose  shaly  stone  made  the  foot- 
hold worse  than  undependable.  A  few  feet  higher, 
were  it  not  for  the  thick  oak  stick  I  carried  and 
used  now  at  need,  driving  it  two  feet  into 
the  crumbing  shale,  I  should  have  come 
off.  At  this  moment  the  waves  were  dash- 
ing with  great  spirit  five  fathoms  below,  so 
that  the  climber,  looking  down,  saw  them  dash  up 
and  recoil  and  come  on  again,  like  wild  beasts  in 
pursuit.  That  was  their  moment — their  chance 
to  shake  a  mortal's  faith  in  the  cliff  and  in  him- 
self and  his  oak-peg.  I  am  afraid  the  mortal 


304  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

part  of  him  felt  queer  ;  but  there  is  at  times  a 
small  providence  in  a  precipice.  A  herb  grew  in 
a  niche  of  loose  stone,  right  under  his  very  nose, 
as  he  hung  there  between  sea  and  sky,  and  it 
had  a  faint,  sweet,  aromatic  smell  like  a  well-kept 
crab-apple.  It  was  wonderful  how  that  herb 
revived  his  courage.  .  .  . 

"Half  an  hour,  then,  of  grim,  determined  oak- 
pegging  and  footstep-holing,  and  the  top  of  the 
cliff  was  reached ;  and  the  climber  threw  himself 
breathless  on  the  nearest  green  slope.  When  at 
last  he  rose  up,  and  went  to  a  knoll  near  by, 
whence  he  could  look  down  to  Newgale  Bridge, 
it  was  to  see  the  mail-gig  already  leaving  the  inn 
for  the  opposite  ascent.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  tramp  the  ten  or  eleven  miles  on  to  Ha'r- 
ford.  The  only  serious  wound  sustained  in  the 
battle  with  the  cliff  was  an  unexplainable  huge 
rent  in  the  back  of  his  coat,  which  made  decent 
folk  regard  him  suspiciously  in  the  gaslit  street  of 
Ha'rford  when  he  got  there  after  dark." 

From  Newgale  Bridge  to  Solva  it  is  about  five 
miles,  or  perhaps  rather  less.  The  long  creek  or 
harbour  there  makes  an  effect  at  once  wild  and 
homely  as  you  descend  into  the  place. 

Nothing  like  Solva,  says  Gr.  R.,  is  to  be  seen 
elsewhere.  Like  a  snow-white  village  maiden  she 
perches  on  her  cliffs.  The  Evil  One  must  get  little 
to  do  in  Solva ;  the  very  chimneys,  his  favourite  way 
of  descent,  are  barred  to  him  :  are  not  they  and  the 
houseroof  s  painted  as  white  as  snow  ?  Even  the  gate- 
posts, ay,  and  the  gate-posts  to  the  fields,  are  washed 
with  white,  that  nothing  evil  may  go  out  or  in. 
On  a  clear  blue  day  I  have  seen  Solva  dazzle  in  the 
sun's  face,  as  she  cast  back  the  moving  blue  lights 
of  the  sea  below.  For  the  sea  is  unthinkably  blue 


SOLVA  AND  ST.   DAVID'S  305 

at  Solva  on  a  clear  day.  The  slate  cliffs  are  blue 
and  purple  and  green,  the  water  clean  and  deep, 
like  a  fluid,  many-coloured  jewel;  the  air  has 
something  of  a  like  quality,  so  clear  and  clean  it  is 
and  full  of  aromatic  fragrances.  A  leaf  follows 
from  an  old  traveller's  MS.  book,  whose  exact  age 
it  would  be  hard  to  decide  :  — 

"Delighted  with  this  strange  wild  place,  we  decided  to 
pass  the  night  here  rather  than  at  St.  David's.  We  found 
excellent  entertainment,  and  in  the  morning  one  of  us 
went  visiting  among  the  village  folk  of  Upper  and  Lower 
Solva.  She  told  us  afterwards  she  found  a  strange  comming- 
ling of  types  there — what  wonder?  The  harbour  of  Solva 
saw  the  Romans  pass  ;  and  by  the  sea-way  came  rovers, 
Danish,  and  Irish  ;  ay,  many  ships  of  many  lands.  I  am 
assured  too  that  the  saintly  community  that  ruled  on  this 
promontory  left  its  spiritual  progeny  behind,  notably  in  the 
person  of  one  woman  in  whose  history  our  companion  became 
much  interested.  She  was  a  tall,  pale,  gentle  person,  childless 
and  somewhat  sad.  Her  husband's  trade  (that  necessary  one 
that  sacrifices  our  good  friends  the  animals  to  our  absurd 
needs)  was  her  cross.  He  himself  was  an  excellent  kind  man; 
she  spoke  of  him  with  affection ;  but  of  his  trade  with  shud- 
dering ;  and  yet  she  helped  him  in  it.  Her  house  was  clean 
and  plain,  kept  like  a  nun's  cell,  only  better  scrubbed.  She 
had  something  of  the  temper  of  a  Buddhist  philosopher  and 
talked  of  God,  of  the  few  books  she  possessed  and  treasured  ; 
of  music,  which  she  might  scarcely  ever  hear ;  looking  the 
while  with  a  sort  of  patient  wonder  at  the  land-road  and  the 
sea-road  that  led  to  the  great  world ;  for  out  of  Solva  she 
might  never  come.  In  bearing,  manner  and  mind  this  woman 
would  have  made  a  perfect  Abbess  of  a  convent :  still  she  had 
her  uses  in  Solva,  if  only  to  teach  that  one  may  get  to  the 
last  peak  of  the  world  and  find  a  saint  established  there. 

Three  and  a  half  miles  of  unexciting  road  lead  on 
to  St.  David's.  The  sea-coast  and  its  splendid  cliffs 
are  out  of  sight ;  the  landscape  is  barren.  But  in 

20 


306  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

its  very  austerity  there  hides  a  satisfaction,  and  in 
these  days  when  quiet  shrines  are  few  the  remote- 
ness lends  a  charm. 

The  traveller  who  goes  to  St.  David's  with 
memories  of  Durham  and  Lincoln,  and  of  towers 
set  high,  may  be  disappointed  on  arriving  there  in 
the  quiet  street  to  see  no  sign  of  a  Cathedral.  To 
find  it,  it  is  necessary  to  dive  into  the  quiet  little 
vale  of  Alun,  where  the  Cathedral  stands.  There  it 
was  built,  hidden,  like  many  other  Welsh  churches 
and  religious  houses,  from  the  world  because  of 
the  fierce  eyes  of  sea-rovers  and  "  pyrats." 

The  more  usual  approach  to  the  Cathedral  is 
a  hundred  yards  further  on,  by  the  lane  known  as 
the  "  Popples,"  a  cobble-paved  way  which  runs 
down  to  the  Tower  gateway,  beyond  which  a  broad 
range  of  steps  and  again  a  leisurely  slant  pathway 
leads  to  the  door. 

The  steps  descending  into  the  Cathedral  yard 
are  called  by  the  St.  David's  folk  who  tread  them 
oftenest  the  "  Thirty-nine  Articles  " — being  of  that 
orthodox  number. 

The  first  effect  of  the  Cathedral,  as  one  draws 
near  to  it,  is  apt  to  be  for  various  reasons  dis- 
appointing. The  softness  of  age  and  the  charm  of 
old  masonry  are  wanting,  of  course,  to  Sir  Gilbert 
Scott's  machine-cut  blue  facing  blocks,  which  do 
not  harmonise  with  the  ancient  parts  of  the 
building  and  its  hand-chiselled,  time-worn  stone. 
One  must  pass  round  and  on  beyond  the  western 
doors  of  the  Cathedral,  and  look  across  the  little 
Alun  stream,  to  the  ruins  of  the  Bishop's  Palace, 
and  along  the  north  side  of  the  Cathedral,  past  the 
ruined  cloisters,  and  up  the  Vale  of  Roses,  where 
the  trees  of  the  old  Treasury  Garden  suggest  a 
green  pleasaunce  for  quiet  walks,  before  one  falls 


SOLVA  AND  ST.   DAVID'S  307 

under  the  spell  of  the  place.  Within,  the  church 
vista  seen  from  the  west  end  has  massive  and  noble 
lines  ;  and  the  time-faded  colours  of  the  pillars  and 
the  ceiling  of  Irish  oak,  and  the  form  of  the  whole, 
make  a  lovely  and  harmonious  interior. 

The  nave  and  north  and  south  aisles  have  just 
enough  of  ornament ;  and  the  gradual  rise  in  the 
floor  up  to  the  steps  approaching  to  the  choir 
takes  the  eye  like  the  rise  to  a  beech-grove  from  a 
forest  lawn.  At  the  top  of  the  central  steps,  nearly 
on  a  line  with  the  fifth  pair  of  pillars,  we  have  two 
tombs  of  clerics — probably  Bishop  Carew(1256-1280) 
and  Bishop  Beck  (1280-1293),  and  between  them  the 
grave  of  some  person  unknown.  Bishop  Carew 
built  a  shrine  for  the  relics  of  St.  David,  which  may 
be  that  in  the  Presbytery.  Bishop  Beck  had  a  mint 
at  St.  David's,  and  coined  pennies,  so  rare  now  that 
a  pretty  penny  would  be  asked  for  one  of  them. 
Also,  he  founded  colleges  at  Llangadock  and 
Llanddewi  Brefi,  and  a  hospital  at  Llawhaden.  A 
penny  of  Edward  I.,  a  bishop's  gold  ring,  a  chalice, 
a  paten,  and  a  bishop's  staff  were  found  in  his 
grave — if,  indeed,  it  be  his.  We  have  already 
passed  the  much  mutilated  tomb  of  Bishop  Morgan 
(1496-1504),  just  below  the  pillar  nearest  to  the 
"  Carew  "  tomb.  The  panel  at  the  upper  end  repre- 
sents the  Resurrection,  with  soldiery,  the  work  of 
no  common  sculptor.  A  step  or  two  to  the  right 
from  Carew's  tomb,  and  we  come  to  the  tomb  of 
Bishop  Gower — bishop  here  for  twenty  years 
(1328-1347),  the  finest  ecclesiastical  builder  Wales 
ever  had.  His  grave  is  placed  within  reach  of 
the  rood  screen,  which  he  built ;  and  in  his  day  an 
altar  stood  before  the  screen,  to  serve  the  nave  and 
the  public  worshippers  there.  The  monks  had 
their  separate  service  at  the  altar.  And  now, 


308  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

having  reached  the  choir,  we  can  afford  a  pause 
to  examine  the  stalls  and  seat  carvings,  which  date 
from  the  fifteenth  century.  They  are  boldly  and 
joyously  irreverent  in  character,  and  make  open 
fun,  it  must  seem,  of  the  churchmen  who  were  to 
occupy  them.  One  shows  us  a  fox  in  a  monk's 
hood  handing  a  wafer  to  a  goose  with  the  head  of 
a  lay  penitent.  Another  is  a  boatload  of  men 
rowing  St.  Govan,  who  is  evidently  troubled  by 
sea-sickness.  All  these  carvings  are  excellent  and 
highly  secular.  It  is  impossible  to  avoid  admiring 
the  fine  discrimination  that  adorned  the  part  of  the 
Cathedral  intended  for  the  laity  with  pious  works 
of  art,  and  lightened  the  strain  of  an  incessant 
piety  for  the  poor  monks  by  such  cynic-comic 
devices. 

Nowhere  can  the  charm  of  St.  David's  be  felt 
so  fully  as  among  the  ruins  of  the  Bishop's  Palace, 
the  work  of  that  great  architect,  Bishop  Gower. 
The  old  walls  stand  up,  shaggy  with  ivy ;  the  open 
arcading  at  the  top  runs  its  fine  design  boldly 
along  the  sky.  Its  noble  proportions  speak  to 
the  mind  and  recall  an  ample  past.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  remember  that  one  bishop  built  the  palace 
and  another  bishop  tried  to  pull  it  down. 

Many  royal  princes  have  joined  the  stream  that 
has  flowed  to  St.  David's,  whose  shrine,  by  its 
remoteness,  the  mystery  of  its  sea-coast,  and  the 
difficulties  of  the  journey  in  a  day  when  wheels 
did  not  exist,  gained  all  the  enchantment  that 
distance  could  lend.  William  the  Conqueror, 
Henry  II.,  Edward  II.,  and  Queen  Eleanor  are 
among  the  famous  travellers  who  journeyed 
here.  According  to  the  old  poets  and  chroniclers 
two  visits  to  St.  David's  counted  as  one  to 
Rome. 


SOLVA  AND  ST.   DAVID'S  309 

"Roma  semel  quantum." 
Dat  bis  Menevia  tan  turn." 

No  place  suffered  more  from  the  iconoclasts 
than  St.  David's.  The  first  great  criminal  was 
William  Barlow,  who  sat  as  bishop  from  1536 
to  1547.  He  must  have  been  a  good  man  of 
business,  for,  in  that  space  of  time,  he  contrived 
to  pull  the  lead  roofing  off  the  Bishop's  Palace, 
which  he  sold  for  his  own  profit — more  remark- 
able still,  he  contrived  to  marry  his  five  daughters 
to  five  bishops ! 

His  successor,  Bishop  Ferrer,  the  unluckiest 
bishop  that  could  be  imagined,  was  not  altogether 
guiltless  of  spoliation  either ;  but  that  he  was 
imprisoned  from  political  motives  can  be  easily 
gathered  from  reading  the  charges  against  him, 
which  include  "wearing  a  hat,  christening  his 
child  Samuel,  whistling  to  the  said  child,  whistling 
to  a  seal  in  Milford  Haven,  and  riding  with  a 
bridle  with  white  studs  and  snaffle,  white  Scottish 
stirrups,  white  spurs,  a  Scottish  pad,  with  a  little 
staff  three  quarters  long."  Ferrer,  after  being 
set  free  from  prison,  was  imprisoned  again  and 
finally  burnt  in  Carmarthen  in  1555. 

And  what  shall  be  said  of  the  persecutors  of 
poor  Elis  ap  Howel,  the  antiquarian  sexton? 

"  Because  he  being  Sextene  in  the  Cath' 
church  of  St.  David's,  of  long  time  did  conceal 
certain  ungodly  popish  books ;  as  masse  books, 
hympnalls,  grailes,  Antiphon's,  and  suche  like,  (as 
it  were  loking  for  a  day)  Mr.  Chantor  deprived 
hym  of  the  sextenship  and  the  fees  belonging 
thereunto,  and  caused  the  said  ungodly  books 
to  be  canceld  and  torne  in  pieces  in  the  vestrie 
before  his  face."  These  "  ungodly  books "  were 


310  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

probably  most  beautiful  and  valuable  specimens 
of  the  art  of  the  time  in  illumination  and  gilding. 

For  St.  David's  sake,  the  first  adventure  outside 
the  city's  boundaries  ought  to  be  to  Non's  Well 
and  Chapel,  and  the  coast  near  by.  This  is  within 
an  easy  walk  of  the  cross.  A  stretch  of  road 
and  a  couple  of  field-side  paths  bring  one  into 
the  seaward  field  where  stands  the  chapel,  which 
is  little  more  than  a  rude  pile  of  stones  within 
the  four  walls  of  the  little  building.  The  well 
lies  fifty  yards  to  the  left,  in  an  enclosed  space, 
over  whose  wall  one  must  make  shift  to  climb 
carefully,  so  as  not  to  do  any  damage.  The  well- 
water  is  clear  and  sweet,  and  the  present  pilgrim 
can  honestly  vouch  that  he  felt  invigorated  and 
reanimated  after  drinking  it.  It  was — indeed,  still 
is — in  much  repute  as  a  pin-well  and  wish-well. 
A  penny  deposited  there,  in  the  little  niche  in  the 
stone  at  the  left  side,  is  said  to  disappear  mysteri- 
ously :  proof  enough,  if  one  were  needed,  that 
there  is  something  of  enchantment  about  the  spot. 

The  story  of  St.  Non  breathes  an  old-world  air, 
to  which  the  rude  remains  of  the  chapel  and  the 
lonely  well  lend  a  grey  reality.  Sandde,  a  chief 
of  Cardigan,  was  bold  and  Non  was  beautiful, 
and  he  dispensed  with  the  rites  of  the  Church  and 
the  bride's  consent;  and  so,  as  a  result  of  a 
marriage  by  capture,  in  a  barbaric  age  and  a 
wild  place — it  is  said  during  a  storm  and  on  the 
cliff  below  the  chapel — the  babe,  David,  was  born 
in  the  year  558.  One  imagines  that  he  was 
sheltered  then  in  a  hut  where  the  chapel  now 
stands.  Certainly  both  he  and  his  mother  must 
have  often  drunk  from  the  well. 

But  it  was  not  there  he  was  baptized,  but  at 
the  old  St.  David's  Well  above  the  Cathedral. 


SOLVA  AND  ST.  DAVID'S  311 

On  leaving  the  chapel  field,  you  cross  a  style 
and  gain  an  overhanging  cliff-path  that  follows 
the  windings  of  the  cliffs.  On  the  rocks  below 
the  incoming  tide  returns  upon  itself  in  magni- 
ficent ocean  waves  rolled  on  a  great  axis.  The 
nearest  creek  below  the  chapel  has  a  rocky  out- 
post, called  the  Chanter's  Seat,  where  you  sit 
at  peril.  Beyond  this  conies  Forth  y  Ffynnon, 
and  then  again  Forth  Clais,  where  the  Alun  has 
its  aber  or  outflow.  Limekilns  and  an  old  landing- 
place  lend  the  primitive  port  a  show  of  occupation. 
From  the  crossing  of  the  head  of  Forth  Clais, 
it  cost  us  a  good  half-hour's  ramble  round  the 
cliff  to  Forth  Lisky ;  but  these  adventures  can  be 
continued  endlessly  here,  with  many  ups  and 
downs.  A  fair  view  of  the  Isle  of  Ramsey  is  to 
be  gained  from  above  Forth  Taflod.  It  is  usual 
to  make  the  crossing  to  the  island  from  Forth 
Clais. 

The  noblest  fastness  of  all  this  peninsula  is  St. 
David's  Head,  which  is  a  little  over  two  miles 
from  the  Cathedral.  The  by-road  that  crosses 
the  Alun  and  runs  up  the  bank  above  the  Bishop's 
Palace  is  the  most  direct.  But  the  main  road 
up  the  Vale  may  be  taken  to  the  next  bold  turn 
to  the  left,  and  so  to  the  ugly  Vicarage  posted 
high  above  the  bridge,  which  carries  one  round 
by  Pen  Arthur  Farm  to  join  the  wilder  roadway 
beyond.  The  latter  bears  the  curious  name  of 
"  Fordd  Chwech-Erw,"  or  the  Road  of  the  Six 
Acres.  The  road  reaches  the  shore  at  the  north- 
ern end  of  Whitesand  Bay,  close  to  the  old  site 
of  St.  Patrick's  Chapel,  which  is  some  twenty 
paces  above  the  road.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  where  a  ruined  boathouse  shows  some  old 
walls,  began  the  ancient  enclosure  of  Menapia — 


312  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

the  oldest  settlement — obviously  too  near  the  sea 
and  too  tempting  to  sea-pirates  to  remain  long 
in  that  situation.  The  Vale  of  Alun,  the  histori- 
cal or  legendary  "Vale  of  Roses,"  would  easily 
recommend  itself  at  such  time,  as  the  first  site 
proved  disastrous. 

We  have  to  ascend  a  considerable  bank  now 
on  the  way  to  the  Head,  skirting  two  more  creeks 
or  porths — Forth  Llenog  and  Forth  Melgaw.  All 
along  this  open  sea  rampart  we  are  on  ground 
that  once  and  in  the  unpopulous  days  of  the  cave- 
men and  the  cliff -men  was  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lous parts  of  early  prehistoric  Britain.  How  did 
they  live?  one  asks  as  one  gazes  on  the  unfer- 
tile promontory.  Not  on  plants  and  herbs,  but 
on  fish  and  the  wild  creatures  to  be  caught  in 
the  sea  and  on  its  confines. 

Mr.  Edward  Laws,  author  of  Little  England 
Beyond  Wales,  and  the  Rev.  S.  Baring-Gould, 
author  of  Pabo  the  Priest,  &c.,  made  considerable 
excavations  on  and  a  little  north  of  the  Head, 
which  proved  clearly  that  an  extensive  range 
of  earth  cells  and  dwellings  existed  here. 

Even  on  calm  days  the  Atlantic  pressure  on 
the  rocks  here  is  formidable.  In  a  storm  from  the 
south-west  the  breakers  are  terrible  and  magnifi- 
cent. One  breaker,  on  a  fine  August  afternoon 
in  1901,  was  the  cause  of  the  sad  death  of  Reginald 
Smith  (son  of  Chancellor  Smith,  the  Rector  of 
Swansea),  who,  stepping  aside  to  avoid  the  spray, 
fell  into  Forth  Melgaw,  and  after  swimming 
vainly  up  the  creek  again  and  again,  only  to 
be  washed  back  by  the  recoiling  waves,  was 
carried  under.  A  stone  now  marks  the  spot 
where  he  slipped. 

From  the  "  Head  "  it  is  well  worth  while  to  climb 


SOLVA  AND  ST.  DAVID'S  313 

Cam  Llidi,  595  feet  above  the  sea-level.  It 
suggests  that  a  race  of  giants  preceded  the 
pigmies,  or  hut-dwellers,  below,  and  hurled  these 
mighty  masses  into  "  something  like  a  cairn  ! " 

From  the  top  one  can  look  down  on  Clegyr 
Foia,  that  hill  whose  name  calls  to  mind  the 
kind  of  life  men  led  here  fourteen  hundred  years 
ago.  Clegyr  Foia  means  Crag  Boia ;  and  Boia 
was  an  Irish  plunderer  and  chieftain  of  the  sixth 
century  who  sojourned  there.  His  story,  as  told 
by  Mr.  Baring-Gould,  recalls  the  old  fierce  ballads 
of  the  North  with  the  cruel  step-mother  as  pro- 
tagonist. 

Boia  had  fixed  his  camp  on  the  rock  that  bears 
his  name,  320  feet  long  by  100  broad  as  you  step 
it  out  to-day,  and  with  him  were  his  terrible  wife 
and  his  step-daughter,  the  little  maiden  Dunawd. 
One  morning  he  climbs  to  the  top  of  his  rock 
and  looks  below  ;  the  smoke  of  a  strange  fire  is 
going  up  from  the  slope  of  Carn  Llidi,  and  he 
hurries  off  at  once  to  discover  not  a  rival  robber, 
but  a  hermit  cooking  his  meal  beside  his  fire — 
David  himself.  Boia  found  him  a  wise  and  peace- 
ful soul  who  discoursed  on  the  new  doctrines ; 
Boia's  heart  was  softened  and  he  allowed  the 
hermit  to  remain.  Not  so  Boia's  fierce  wife  :  St. 
David  could  make  no  impression  on  her  pagan 
spirit,  and  she  resorted  to  every  possible  method 
to  drive  him  away.  Finding  all  fail,  she  deter- 
mined to  invoke  the  aid  of  her  gods,  and  to 
propitiate  them  by  offering  a  human  sacrifice. 

One  warm  day  in  early  autumn  she  asked  her 
step-daughter  Dunawd  to  come  with  her  into  the 
hazel-wood  to  gather  nuts,  and  then  said  she 
would  dress  Dunawd's  tangled  curls.  But  when 
the  little  maid  laid  down  her  head  in  her  lap 


314  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

she  first  shore  off  her  locks  (an  act  by  which 
she  adopted  the  child  as  her  own),  and  then  cut 
her  throat.  Where  the  blood  of  Dunawd  fell 
a  pure  spring  burst  up  from  the  ground,  which 
is  called  Ffynnon  Dunawd  (Dunawd's  Fountain) 
to  this  day. 

But  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  was  waking 
against  the  camp  of  Boia  and  its  inhabitants. 
We  can  imagine  the  dark  headland  sleeping 
under  the  September  moon,  and  judgment  in  the 
shape  of  the  "  shiplette "  of  Paucant,  the  son  of 
Liski,  slipping  with  the  tide  into  the  bay  below. 
(If  you  disbelieve  the  story  you  can  go  to-morrow 
to  Forth  Liski  (Liski's  harbour)  and  see  where 
he  landed  and  climb  all  the  way  he  went  to  Boia's 
Crag.)  This  son  of  Liski  was  an  Irish  rover,  too, 
and  his  men  behind  him  carried  slings  and  stones 
in  their  hands  as  David  did  in  Palestine  one  still 
remoter  day.  One  can  imagine  the  shout  with 
which  they  sprang  on  the  fifteen-feet  wall  that 
surrounded  the  camp ;  the  hail  of  sling-stones 
swept  over  the  west  wall  and  fell  on  the  further 
side — where  you  may  pick  up  one  or  two  still. 
Boia  and  his  men  were  massacred,  one  and  all. 

The  wretched  wife  of  Boia  was  slain  or  lost  the 
same  night,  and  the  crag  knew  them  no  more. 

But  David  flourished  and  his  doctrines  spread, 
and  he  built  a  monastery  and  dwelt  on  that  wild 
promontory  till  the  time  came  for  him  too  to 
depart.  The  words  of  the  chronicler  describing 
his  death  are  much  too  moving  not  to  be  repeated 
in  full:— 

"And  on  Tuesday  night,  about  the  time  of 
cockcrowing,  lo  a  host  of  angels  filled  the  city, 
it  was  full  of  all  kinds  of  songs  and  mirth;  and 
when  the  morning  came  the  sun  was  shining  on 


SOLVA  AND  ST.   DAVID'S  315 

all  the  hosts.  And  on  that  Tuesday,  the  first  of 
March,  the  Lord  Jesus  took  the  soul  of  St.  David, 
with  great  victory  and  joy,  and  honour;  after 
hunger,  and  thirst,  and  cold,  and  labour,  and 
fasting,  and  granting  charitable  relief,  and  afflic- 
tion, and  trouble,  and  temptations,  and  anxiety. 
The  angels  took  his  soul  to  the  place  where  there 
is  light  without  end,  and  rest  without  labour, 
and  joy  without  sorrow,  and  plenty  of  all  good 
things,  and  victory,  and  brightness  and  beauty. 
The  place  where  there  is  health  without  pain, 
and  youth  without  old  age,  and  peace  without 
disagreement,  and  music  without  affliction,  and 
rewards  without  end." 

The  snow-white  farmhouse  of  Clegyr  Foia 
nestles  under  the  rock  at  the  south-east  side. 
Architecturally  it  is  most  interesting,  as  it  gives 
an  example  of  the  famous  round  chimney  which 
is  peculiar  to  Celtic  Pembrokeshire  and  which 
is  rapidly  vanishing  away.  The  house  has  a 
stone  porch  with  slabbed  seats  on  either  side ; 
the  chimney  rises  between  the  porch  and  the 
pent-house  roofed  recess  on  the  other  side. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

RAMSEY  ISLAND  —  GRASSHOLM  AND  THE  GANNET 
COMMUNITY — THE  ISLAND  OF  BIRDS — GWALES 
IN  PENVRO — THE  SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNO- 
CENTS —  AN  UNRECORDED  VICTORY  OF  THE 
BRITISH  NAVY 

RAMSEY  ISLAND  lies  next  door  to  St.  David's,  but 
the  crossing  is  not  to  be  made  every  day,  and  it 
is  often  hard  to  get  boats  and  boatmen,  and  you 
may  have  to  wait  indefinitely  if  it  be  late  autumn. 
The  crossing  is  usually  made  from  Forth  Clais,  and 
the  excursion  takes  at  least  four  to  five  hours, 
while  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  extra  delay  on  the 
island  itself  may  cause  the  losing  of  the  tide  for 
the  return  journey.  A  couple  of  hours  on  the 
island  permits  the  climbing  of  Carn  Llundain 
and  the  visiting  of  Twyn  Llundain  (why  these 
two  landmarks  should  be  associated  with  London 
is  not  clear :  perhaps  because  they  are  so  remote 
from  everything  that  is  London's  and  London  like). 
The  only  house  on  the  island  is  near  the  landing- 
place,  and  half  an  hour's  climb  will  carry  you 
thence  to  the  highest  Carn,  four  hundred  and  forty- 
six  feet.  The  top  commands  every  point  of 
interest — on  the  seaward  side  the  Bishop  and  his 
Clerks,  and  the  lighthouse  on  the  South  Bishop — 
and  on  the  next  horn,  southward  of  St.  Bride's 
Bay,  Musslewick  and  Skomar  Island  and  the 

316 


RAMSEY  AND  GRASSHOLM  ISLANDS     317 

lighthouses  at  the  mouth  of  Milford  Haven.  At 
spring-tides  an  ample  reach  of  the  Haven  itself 
is  visible  just  south  of  St.  Bride's  Hill  across  the 
Marloes  cliffs.  The  view  of  St.  David's  is  so 
elusive  that  a  painter  christened  it  "  Hide  and 
Seek  Town."  We  should  remember,  as  we  look 
upon  the  formidable  rocks  christened  the  "  Bishop 
and  his  Clerks  "  and  watch  the  water  racing  north- 
ward past  them,  the  old  epigram  which  George 
Owen  of  Henllys  fondly  iterates  in  his  Descrip- 
tion of  Pembrokeshire.  We  had  better  give  part 
of  the  passage  in  which  it  occurs : — 

Ramsey  rangeth  in  order  the  Bishop  and  his  Olearkes, 
being  VII  en  in  Nomber,  all  wayes  scene  at  lowe  water  who 
are  not  without  some  small  Quiristers,  who  shewe  not  them- 
selves, but  at  spring  tydes  and  calm  seas.  The  chief est  of 
theis  ys  called  of  the  inhabitantes  the  Bishop  rocke  ;  one 
other,  Carreg  u  Rossan ;  the  third  Divighe,  the  fourth 
Emskir  ;  the  rest  as  yet  I  have  not  learned  their  names.  .  .  . 
The  Bishop  and  those  his  Clerkes  preach  deadly  doctrine  to 
their  ivinter  audience,  and  are  commendable  for  nothinge 
but  for  their  good  residence." 

In  another  MS.  said  to  be  Owen's  two  more 
names  of  the  Clerks  are  given :  to  wit,  Gwen 
Carreg  and  Carreg  Hawloe.  George  Owen  tells 
us  too  that  these  rocks  "  are  accompted  a  great 
danger  to  those  that  seek  Milford  coming  from 
the  southwest  seas." 

When  arranging  the  boat  excursion  for  Ramsey, 
it  is  well  to  allow  time  for  coasting  the  west  cliffs, 
Ynys  Bery  and  the  whole  circuit  of  the  island. 
This  should  only  be  attempted  under  the  care  of 
a  couple  of  boatmen.  The  tide  in  Ramsey  Sound 
runs  like  a  millrace,  and  needs  much  humouring 
with  certain  winds  and  uncertain  currents.  If 
you  are  yachting,  you  can  sail  on  from  Ramsey 


318  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

to  Grassholm — the  Island  of  Birds,  the  farthest 
west  of  the  Welsh  isles,  and  the  actual  spot  called 
Gwales  in  the  story  of  the  sons  of  Llyr.*  It  is  a 
spot  where  few  people  have  set  foot.  Fortunately 
a  Welsh  artist,  a  bird- lover  and  a  great  traveller, 
Mr.  T.  H.  Thomas,  paid  the  island  a  visit  and  camped 
there  with  some  friends  one  Whitsuntide,  and  he 
has  very  generously  put  his  notes  at  my  disposal. 

"  It  was  nightfall,"  says  Mr.  Thomas,  "  when 
with  our  multifarious  belongings  we  scrambled 
up  the  rocks  above  the  tiny  landing-place  on  the 
island.  We  stumbled  along  among  stones  and 
puffin-burrows  to  a  spot  which  one  of  the  sailors 
had  told  us  was  the  only  camping-ground.  We 
passed  a  painful  hour  of  struggle  in  the  darkness 
with  our  tent,  but  at  last  it  was  pitched  well  and 
truly  and  we,  wrapped  like  mummies  upon  the 
ground,  courted  slumber.  The  island  '  was  full 
of  noises ' :  cries  of  birds  strange  to  us,  the  beat  of 
countless  wings,  the  dash  of  billows,  and  a  curious 
soughing  noise  beneath  us,  afterwards  discovered 
to  be  the  swirl  of  meeting  waters  in  a  cavern 
piercing  the  isle  beneath  the  spot  where  we 
reposed.  The  cries  of  some  of  the  sea-birds  were 
sadness  itself,  and  listening  to  them  in  the  dark- 
ness the  lament  for  Myrto  by  Andre  Chenier 
came  to  mind : — 

'  '  Pleurez,  doux  alcyons  :  6  vous,  oiseaux  sacres, 
Oiseaux  chers  a  Thetis,  doux  alcyons,  pleurez  ! 
Elle  a  vecu,  Myrto  I ' 


*  ' '  And  there  they  found  a  fair  and  regal  spot  overlooking 
the  ocean,  and  a  spacious  hall  therein.  And  they  went  into 
the  hall,  and  two  of  its  doors  were  open,  but  the  third  was 
closed,  that  which  looked  toward  Cornwall "  (The  Mdbin- 
ogion  :  "  Bran  wen,  daughter  of  Llyr  ")• 


RAMSEY  AND  GRASSHOLM  ISLANDS     319 

"The  morning  light  peering  yellow  through 
our  canvas  roof  aroused  us,  and  emerging  from 
our  tent  we  found  ourselves  in  a  realm  of  strange 
beauty.  We  were  encamped  upon  a  spot  covered 
with  vivid  vegetation  in  a  tiny  ravine  ;  on  either 
side  were  steep  rocks  of  brightest  orange  colour, 
being  covered  with  brilliant  lichen.  At  either 
end  the  ravine  was  '  crowned  by  summer  sea.' 
Every  point,  ledge,  and  cleft  of  the  rocks  around 
us  was  occupied  by  sea-birds,  gulls,  puffins,  razor- 
bills, guillemots  which  rose  at  our  apparition, 
with  wild  cries  circled  around,  and  then  settled 
again  to  watch  the  intruders.  During  the  night 
there  had  been  inexplicable  croakings  in  our  tent ; 
these  were  now  explained  by  the  appearance  of 
some  puffins  hopping  in  a  bewildered  manner 
from  the  tent,  which  was  pitched  over  their 
burrows. 

"Breakfast  was  the  next  thing,  and  while  pre- 
paring we  may  think  over  the  history  of  the 
isle.  Very  little  can  be  gathered  from  maps  and 
books ;  Grassholm  is  an  almost  unconsidered  islet. 
Owing  to  its  westerly  position  few  maps  of  Wales 
include  it.  It  has  always  in  historic  periods  been 
uninhabited,  but  our  after  observations  led  us  to 
think  there  had  been  a  prehistoric  occupation. 
The  only  early  map  in  which  it  appears  is  Kip's, 
which  accompanies  the  1637  edition  of  Camden's 
Britannia.  There  an  island  occupies  the  position 
of  Grassholm,  but  is  called  Wallys  (?  Whales) 
Island.  There  is  notice  in  Drayton's  Polyolbion 
(1613),  where  '  Gresholme  '  appears  in  the  illustra- 
tion and  lines  occur  in  the  poem : — 

' '  As  Rat  and  Sheepy  set  to  keep  salme  Milford's  mouth 
Exposed  to  Neptune's  power — so   Gresholme  farre  doth 
stand." 


320  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

"Although  not  directly  describing  Grassholm* 
there  are  passages  referring  to  the  ornithology 
of  the  West  Coast  and  Island  of  Pembrokeshire 
in  Camden  which  are  worth  transcription  both 
for  their  quaintness  and  instructiveness.  Speaking 
of  Ramsey  Island  (in  the  Additions}  the  following 
account  is  given  from  a  letter  by  the  '  Revd.  Mr. 
Nicholas  Roberts,  A.M.,  Rector  of  Lhan  Dhewi 
Velpey,'  of  migratory  sea-birds  : — 

"'To  this  Island  and  some  rocks  adjoining  .  .  . 
the  Bishop  and  his  Clerks,  do  yearly  resort,  about 
the  beginning  of  April  such  a  number  of  birds  of 
several  sorts,  that  none  but  such  as  have  been 
eyewitnesses  can  be  prevailed  upon  to  believe  it ; 
all  which  after  breeding  here,  leave  us  before 
August.  They  come  and  also  leave  constantly  in 
the  night-time,  for  in  the  evening  the  rocks  shall 
be  covered  with  them,  and  next  morning  not  a 
bird  to  be  seen,  so  in  the  evening  not  a  bird  shall 
appear,  and  the  next  morning  the  rocks  be  full. 
They  also  visit  us  commonly  about  Christmas, 
and  stay  a  week  or  more,  and  then  take  their 
leave  till  breeding-time.  Three  sorts  of  these 
migratory  birds  are  called  in  Welsh  Mora, 
Poethwy,  and  Pal ;  in  English  Eligug,  Razorbill, 
and  Puffin ;  to  which  we  may  also  add  the  Harry- 
bird.'  Another  interesting  reference  is  made  to 
the  Peregrine  Falcon,  fine  specimens  of  which  are 
still  to  be  observed  in  the  district.  '  A  noble  kinde 
of  Falcons  have  their  airies  here  and  breed  in  the 
rocks,  which  King  Henry  the  Second,  as  Giraldus 
writeth,  was  wont  to  preferre  before  all  others  of 
that  kind  are  those  the  skilful  Faulconers  cell 
Peregrines :  for  they  have 

"  'Depressus  capitis  vertex  oblongaque  to  to 
Corpore  pennarum  series  pallentia  crura 
Et  graciles  digit!  ac  sparsi,  naresque  rotundas. 


RAMSEY  AND  GRASSHOLM  ISLANDS     321 

"  'Head  flat  and  low,  the  plume  in  rewes  along 
The  body  laid  :  legges  pale  and  worn  are  found 
With  slender  clawes  and  talons  there  among 
And  those  wide-spread  :  the  bill  is  hooked  around.' 

"  Breakfast  over,  we  mounted  the  island  to  the 
west  and  soon  found  ourselves  on  the  summit, 
where  we  were  in  face  of  a  spectacle  which  none 
of  us  can  ever  forget.  We  were  in  a  metropolis 
of  birds  ;  thousands  of  white  wings  and  breasts 
were  before  us,  on  the  grey  or  orange  rocks,  all 
ringed  about  with  the  azure  white-flecked  sea 
and  sky ;  our  ears  were  filled  with  a  wild  concert. 
Every  rocky  ledge  and  terrace  had  its  rows  of 
puffins,  and  among  them  guillemots  and  razor- 
bills, the  latter  often  with  their  eggs  beside  them ; 
clinging  under  the  ledges  above  the  sea  were  the 
pearly  kittiwakes,  and  here  and  there  among  the 
rocks  a  herring-gull  could  be  seen  sitting,  and 
on  a  few  points  the  black-headed  gulls  were 
perched  regarding  the  scene  with  a  view  to  the 
discovery  of  good  fishing-grounds.  High  in  the 
air  a  peregrine  falcon  soared.  But  on  the  western 
slope  of  the  island,  facing  the  great  ocean,  were 
the  settlements  of  the  gannets.  Two  of  the 
highest  rocks  had  been  selected  by  them,  and 
nests  had  been  built  upon  every  step  of  rock. 
Counting  the  two  villages,  more  than  two  hundred 
solan  geese  were  in  view,  each  bird  in  beautiful 
snow-white  plumage  sitting  on  its  dark-coloured 
nest  of  seaweed.  With  the  morning  sun  lighting 
them  up,  and  seen  against  the  grey  and  orange 
rocks,  they  formed  a  beautiful  sight  which  we 
longed  to  view  more  closely. 

"  Not  less  amazing  than  the  sight  was  the  strange 
hubbub  to  the  ear.  Continually  were  heard  the 
warning  cry  of  each  species,  the  subterranean 

21 


322  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

'  Oh ! '  of  the  puffins,  and  the  fluster  with  which  they 
dashed  out  of  their  burrows  and  sped,  blundering 
against  obstacles,  down  the  slopes  till  they  found 
a  little  vantage-point  for  flight.  The  razor-bills 
said  '  Grr '  to  us,  with  disfavour,  and  the  kitti- 
wakes  under  the  ledges,  absorbed  in  eternal  love- 
making,  said  '  itty  wa-a-ke '  and  'a-a-oh-a/  or 
chirped ;  the  '  oyster-catchers '  whistled  as  they 
sped  along;  the  herring-gull's  gravely  sonorous 
'Ah-ha-a!'  sounded  like  a  staccato  warning  against 
our  proceeding  further ;  and  the  peregrine  falcon, 
circling  high  in  the  air,  continually  kept  up  its 
piercing  shriek  of  'Ka-ka-ka-ka,'  unwittingly  telling 
us  that  her  young  were  near.  Under  all  this 
charivari  there  was  the  deep  bourdon  note  of  the 
sea  as  it  boomed  among  the  caverns  below. 

"  The  island  may  be  described  as  roughly  a  five- 
sided  pyramid  of  perhaps  four  hundred  feet  high 
upon  a  base  half  a  mile  long  east  to  west  and  a 
quarter  broad ;  each  side  is  deeply  grooved  and 
filled  with  peaty  soil.  The  island  is  walled  with 
precipices  of  a  hundred  feet  more  or  less. 

"  Making  our  way  to  the  gannet  settlements,  we 
had  to  cross  the  bare  peat  in  which  the  puffins 
burrowed  ;  the  patting  of  their  feet  had  worn  it 
bare  of  vegetation  and  the  utmost  care  was 
requisite  to  prevent  our  breaking  in  unexpectedly 
upon  their  nests,  so  completely  was  the  soil  tun- 
nelled with  the  burrows  in  which  they  deposit 
their  single  dirty  white  egg.  While  some  attended 
to  their  domestic  duties,  others  sunned  themselves 
in  little  mobs  on  the  rocks,  while  at  times  a  whole 
troop  would  take  wing  and,  circling  round  the 
island,  return  to  the  spot  they  had  left,  or  would 
alight  on  the  sea  and  fish  in  long-extended  curves. 
On  laud  or  on  the  wing  the  puffin  is  equally  comic, 


RAMSEY  AND  GRASSHOLM  ISLANDS     323 

his  upright  position,  his  dark  back  and  white 
breast,  his  hooked  red  beak,  and  his  little  vermilion 
legs,  or  when  flying  his  short  wings  and  red  webs 
sticking  out  like  a  red  tail  and  looking  like  a  big 
flying  beetle,  make  him  a  perpetual  diversion  to 
the  beholder. 

"  The  settlement  of  the  gannets,  otherwise  called 
solan-geese,  is  upon  the  western  end  of  the  island, 
at  a  point  where  the  rocks  rise  most  perpen- 
dicularly from  the  sea.  This  bird  can  only  be  seen 
breeding  in  two  localities  upon  the  English  and 
Welsh  shores,  Lundy  and  Grassholm.  The  bird 
has  great  beauty ;  the  plumage  is  snowy  white, 
except  for  a  delicately  shaded  orange-yellow  at  the 
top  of  the  head  and  back  of  the  neck,  and  the 
pinion  feathers,  which  are  jet  black ;  the  body  is 
about  the  size  of  a  domestic  goose  ;  the  beak,  which 
is  large  and  strong,  is  of  a  pale  blue  tint,  and  a 
somewhat  similar  hue  lines  the  feet.  The  wings 
are  of  exceptional  length  and  strength,  being 
usually  six  feet  from  tip  to  tip — they  are  narrow, 
similar  in  shape  to  those  of  the  albatross,  to  which 
the  bird  is  probably  little  inferior  in  powers  of 
flight. 

"  As  we  came  near  the  eyries  many  of  the  birds, 
one  after  another,  with  many  preliminary  com- 
plaints, rose  from  their  nests,  and  advancing  to 
the  cliff  edge,  spread  their  splendid  wings,  then 
with  magnificent  action  launched  themselves  into 
the  air  and  flew  to  sea  with  astonishing  speed  and 
ease.  We  afterwards  had  opportunities  for  seeing 
these  birds  swoop  upon  the  fish.  Flying  at  a  con- 
siderable distance  above  the  water,  they  would 
suddenly  descend  with  a  swiftness  and  force  far 
surpassing  that  of  a  hawk,  which  they  can  do 
in  safety  over  the  yielding  element. 


324  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

"  At  this  first  visit  only  did  the  birds  rise  at  our 
approach.  We  carefully  avoided  quick  gestures  and 
cries,  and  they  soon  became  accustomed  to  our 
presence,  and,  the  gannets  especially,  would  allow 
of  our  very  near  approach :  there  was  something 
particularly  pleasant  in  this  kind  of  anserine 
fraternisation. 

"The  nest  of  the  gannet  is  a  small  mound  of 
seaweed  placed  upon  the  bare  rock  in  the  most 
exposed  situations ;  the  half -decayed  seaweed  ad- 
heres closely  to  the  rock,  and  a  few  sticks  may  be 
roughly  placed  upon  the  seaweed.  Upon  the  nest 
lies  the  single  egg  which  the  bird  lays,  at  first 
a  kind  of  greenish  white  with  a  scurfy  surface, 
about  the  size  of  a  large  hen's  egg  but  narrower 
in  shape.  During  the  period  of  incubation,  being 
rolled  over  and  over  upon  the  dirty  seaweed,  it 
becomes  a  dark  brown.  In  addition  to  the  de- 
caying weed  the  presence  of  an  ejected  fish  or  two 
makes  the  nest  not  a  savoury  object.  The  gannet 
is  one  of  the  Pelicanidse,  and  retains  in  a  pouch 
small  fish,  which  it  disgorges  at  the  nest  before 
'again  going  fishing.  We  sat  near  them  and 
watched  their  ways ;  they  sat  stolidly,  nearly  all 
of  them  with  their  heads  to  the  wind,  and  they 
seem  careless  sitters,  as  in  some  cases  the  eggs 
might  be  seen  beside  them.  If  one  rose  from  her 
nest,  the  others  made  a  discontented  outcry  and 
pecked  at  her  as  she  waddled  to  the  cliff's  edge 
and  were  not  above  dragging  bits  out  of  her  nest 
for  their  own  use,  and  stealing  her  fish  in  her 
absence.  Here  and  there  among  them  a  guillemot 
might  be  seen,  beside  it  its  beautiful  turquoise  egg 
deposited  upon  the  bare  rock. 

"In  the  side  of  the  rock  below  the  gannets 
was  a  kind  of  arched  alcove,  which  was  occupied 


RAMSEY  AND  GRASSHOLM  ISLANDS     325 

by  three  pairs  of  kittiwakes,  whose  manners  and 
customs  quite  represented  those  of  the  species 
generally  at  that  particular  time  of  the  year. 
They  were  simply  absorbed  in  love-making  ;  the 
beautiful  little  pearly  creatures  seemed  to  have 
been  schooled  in  every  possible  variety  of  flirtation, 
and  under  every  ledge  of  rock  overhanging  the 
sea  these  flirtations  appeared  to  be  going  on. 
Their  ways  must  be  seen  to  be  believed — and,  in 
fact,  only  Monsieur  Daudet  or  Ohnet  could  possibly 
describe  satisfactorily  the  events  of  these  alcoves. 

"The  young  of  the  falcons  are  hatched  in  a 
hollow  under  a  rock,  a  simple  depression  in  the 
ground  forming  the  nest.  Though  so  young  that 
they  could  hardly  stand,  they  seemed  able  to  fight, 
and  wrestled  together  and  bit  each  other  like  young 
bears.  They  were  covered  with  pure  white  down. 

"The  nest  of  the  black-backed  gull  showed  us 
quite  a  rising  family.  A  flat,  saucer-like  nest  of 
dried  grasses  was  a  great  centre  of  life,  and  all 
the  children  were  getting  on  nicely.  The  eldest 
was  a  spotted,  fawn-coloured  puff  of  down,  the 
second  was  not  yet  dried  and  combed  from  the 
egg,  while  the  youngest  was  chipping  his  way  out 
of  the  egg  with  many  chirps,  the  egg  meanwhile 
rolling  over  and  over  as  the  struggles  of  the  chick 
changed  its  centre  of  gravity. 

"  The  whole  of  the  island  is  a  mass  of  intrusive 
rock,  the  eastern  portion  of  a  dark  colour,  a  basalt 
or  trap,  becoming  of  a  purplish  tint  upon  the 
higher  portions  and  at  the  western  part,  where  it 
has  to  the  eye  the  character  of  a  porphyry.  The 
stone  is  a  dark  purplish  red  lava  of  great  hardness. 
At  the  eastern  or  landward  end  is  a  fault  which 
exhibits  a  very  curious  character,  which  the  action 
of  the  sea  has  accented.  Great  movement  has 


326  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

taken  place,  and  a  gash  exists  right  across  the 
islet.  I  could  not  determine  whether  this  fissure 
has  ever  been  filled  with  solid  rock  and  then 
breached  by  chemical  and  sea  action,  but  at 
present  it  is  entirely  arched  over  by  a  breccia  of 
blocks  of  various  rocks,  most  of  them  angular, 
but  a  few  more  or  less  rounded  boulders,  some 
of  which  are  of  great  size.  The  southern  end  of 
this  chasm  is  at  the  small  beach  where  we  landed, 
at  which  the  conglomerate  can  be  easily  studied, 
then  masked  by  a  deep  mass  of  peaty  soil  it  crosses 
the  island  and  assumes  a  highly  picturesque  aspect 
at  its  northern  end,  where  a  large  oval  boulder  is 
supported  right  in  the  centre  of  the  section  of  the 
conglomerate  arch,  forming  a  sort  of  architrave  to 
a  gloomy  portal,  below  which  at  a  depth  of  thirty 
feet  or  so  the  waves  heave  and  stream  into  the 
resounding  cavern  corridor.  This  entrance  is  very 
weird-looking ;  the  walls  are  high  and  dark,  many 
nests  of  sea-birds  are  about  it,  the  denizens  flying 
in  screaming  squadrons  to  and  fro,  the  waters 
heave  and  fall  in  a  '  darkness  visible,'  and  the 
cavern  is  resonant  with  the  hissing  of  sea-spray 
and  the  gloomy  mutterings  of  the  billows  as  they 
meet  with  the  waves  from  the  other  entry  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth. 

"  Outside  the  cavern  a  seal  was  seen  disporting 
itself,  which  probably  had  its  home  in  the  cave. 
We  were  afterwards  given  to  understand  that 
seals  breed  there,  and  that  a  local  person,  whose 
position  is  such  that  he  should  know  better,  goes 
over  occasionally  to  shoot  them. 

"A  few  rock  specimens  collected,  Mr.  Storrie 
described  as  diabasic  rock  containing  epidote,  and 
a  softer  purplish  red  rock  was  a  consolidated 
volcanic  ash  now  decomposing. 


RAMSEY  AND  GRASSHOLM  ISLANDS     327 

"  The  probability  of  the  island  containing  traces 
of  occupation  in  prehistoric  ages  has  been  sug- 
gested in  consequence  of  our  observation  of  distinct 
traces  of  erections  or  enclosures  upon  the  higher 
parts  of  the  island,  upon  examining  which  closely 
we  collected  flint  chips,  portions  of  sun-dried 
pottery,  and  other  objects. 

"We  had  ordered  the  cutter  to  return  for  us 
on  Whit  Monday,  but  we  could  not  tear  ourselves 
away  from  the  island,  so  only  Mr.  West,  who  was 
tied  by  engagements,  left,  and  the  rest  of  us  set 
to  our  occupations,  I  going  to  renew  my  acquaint- 
ance with  the  gannets.  Among  them  I  was,  if  not 
welcomed,  at  least  permitted,  and  I  began  some 
sketching  until  I  heard  the  fell  '  crack'  of  a  rifle 
break  in  upon  our  millennium.  Then  commenced  a 
series  of  events  upon  which  this  is  not  the  place 
to  enlarge,  except  in  so  far  as  was  reported  to  a 
Society,  the  name  of  which  frequently  came  up 
in  regard  to  the  proceedings  which  followed : — 

"'An  attack  was  made  upon  the  settlement  of 
gannets  by  a  company  on  board  H.M.S.  Sir  Richard 
Fletcher,  followed  by  a  landing  and  general  battue 
upon  shore,  terminating  in  the  slaughter  of  many 
birds,  several  gannets,  and  the  destruction  of  the 
whole  of  the  eggs  of  the  latter.  We  considered 
that  the  facts  should  be  reported,  which  we  did 
in  a  letter  to  the  Daily  Graphic.  The  press,  local 
and  general,  emphasised  our  complaint,  and  ques- 
tions were  asked  in  the  House  by  Mr.  Webster, 
M.P.  for  St.  Pancras,  who  had  been  informed  by 
the  Bath  Selborne  Society,  and  by  Sir  Hussey 
Vivian.  The  Government  shielded  the  offenders, 
who  were  military  and  volunteer  officers,  so  it  was 
left  to  private  enterprise  to  bring  the  matter  home 
to  them.  The  case  was  taken  up  by  the  Royal 


328  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals, 
and,  with  great  difficulty,  for  here  again  the  local 
authorities  were  most  reluctant  to  move,  Mr.  R.  I. 
Colam,  the  able  and  energetic  secretary,  obtained, 
at  Haverfordwest  Sessions,  a  verdict  against  the 
marauders.  The  Society  considered  the  case  one  of 
the  most  important  they  had  fought,  and  spoke 
of  it  "  as  the  most  wanton  violation  of  the  law  for 
the  protection  of  birds  "  that  had  occurred  since 
the  enactment  of  the  Statute.  From  that  Society, 
from  the  Bath  Branch  of  the  Selborne  Society,  and 
from  the  central  Selborne  Society  in  London,  we 
received  votes  of  commendation  for  moving  in 
the  matter.  Full  details  of  the  whole  case  may 
be  found  in  the  September  number  of  the  Animal 
World,  1890.' 

"  A  large  case  containing  a  gannet,  puffins, 
guillemots,  &c.,  killed  by  the  party  from  the 
steamer,  is  now  set  up  in  the  Cardiff  Museum  with 
a  background  painted  to  represent  the  gannet 
settlement." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  NORTH  PEMBROKE  COAST  —  FISHGUARD  AND 
GOODWICK — THE  VICTORY  OF  JEMIMA — DINAS 
HEAD — SEALS  AND  WILD  GOATS — NEWPORT — 
PRECELLY  TOP 

WORKING  north  along  the  Pembroke  coast  from 
St.  David's,  you  have  a  stretch  to  explore  which 
had  been  rather  neglected  by  the  later  Welsh 
antiquaries,  when  that  excellently  reminiscent 
newspaper,  the  Pembroke  Guardian,  appeared  on 
the  scene  under  the  lead  of  Mr.  H.  W.  Williams, 
of  Solva. 

Two  roads  run  parallel  to  the  coast-line  for  some 
miles.  The  lower  touches  Llanrian  and  Trevine ; 
the  upper  and  better  road  so  far  as  mere 
travelling  goes,  runs  by  Croesgoch  to  Mathry.  In 
either  case  the  traveller,  if  he  be  bent  on  antiquity, 
will  wish  he  had  taken  the  other.  For  this  part 
of  Dewisland  is  fairly  studied  with  remains — 
cromlechs  on  the  moors,  cliff- castles  by  the  sea — 
worth  hunting  for.  Every  village  you  pass  has 
some  old  stone  or  other  built  in  a  wall  or  doorway 
to  rouse  your  curiosity  and  make  you  wish 
secretly  to  unbuild  and  examine  it.  As  for  the 
cromlechs  at  Llanrian  and  at  Mathry,  they  are 
known  things  ;  and  Sir  Norman  Lockyer's  theory 
that  a  cromlech  was  a  cell  of  the  living  and  not 


330  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

merely  of  the  dead  lends  them  the  interest  of 
fresh  discovery.  In  the  same  way,  Mr.  Edward 
Laws  has  helped  to  make  his  Pembroke  neighbours 
aware  of  a  new  human  interest  in  the  cliff-castles, 
which  were  usually  put  down  to  the  strategic 
convenience  of  the  Black  Pagans — the  Wickings. 
But  many  of  them  were  evidently  not  forts 
intended  to  be  a  base  for  sea-pirates'  raids  inland, 
but  the  abode  of  cliff-dwellers  who  lived  on  roots 
and  shell-fish.  A  month  spent  in  exploring  the 
coast  here,  with  a  sketch-book  to  help  the  inves- 
tigation, will  go  far  to  clear  a  way  into  the 
primitive  life  of  the  Welsh  coast  centuries  before 
the  Romans  came. 

Gerald  the  Welshman  speaks  of  the  country 
near  St.  David's  as  stony,  barren,  unimprovable 
territory,  without  any  pleasant  meadows,  a  place 
of  wind  and  storm.  A  tourist  of  a  hundred  years 
ago  adds  that  "  the  rocks  on  this  shore  are  shaken 
into  every  possible  shape  of  horror,"  and  says  he 
found  not  a  glimpse  of  smiling  nature  to  relieve 
his  aching  sight.  As  there  are  no  hedges,  he  adds, 
even  the  sheep  and  the  geese  have  to  be  tethered 
together.  One  may  add  that  nowhere  in  Wales 
can  one  get  such  a  sensation  of  sheer  loneliness. 
Yet  1  seem  to  remember  blue  and  white  skies 
and  radiant  days,  and  a  delicious  short  thymy 
sea-turf  on  some  of  the  barest  outliers  of  this 
coast,  flanked  too  by  a  sea  of  such  colour  that  it 
stained  one's  eyes  with  Italian  blue  for  hours 
afterwards. 

Fenton  opened  a  tumulus  near  Castell  Havod, 
which  has  been  called  both  Danish  and  Roman, 
and  is  neither.  At  Trevaen — the  Three  Stones — 
are  the  remains  of  what  were  called  Bishop 
Martin's  Palace. 


THE  NORTH  PEMBROKE  COAST       331 

You  pass  three  more  cromlechs  before  you  come 
to  your  last  mile  at  Goodwick.  This  promoted 
village  now  forms  one  side  of  the  harbour  and 
seaport,  with  Fishguard  on  the  other,  that  stand 
on  the  world's  highway  and  provide  a  new  through- 
connection  on  the  Great  Western  sea-route.  The 
south-west  corner  of  Fishguard  Bay,  well  sheltered 
from  the  prevailing  winds  and  the  worst  seas  that 
affect  this  coast,  offers  good  space  for  quays  and 
a  safe  landing,  and  the  Bay  a  good  road  for  big 
ships  to  lie  at  anchor.  The  railway  has  already 
equipped  a  dock  and  built  steamers,  and  converted 
a  country-house  into  a  hotel — the  "  Wyncliff " — 
which  is  everything  that  the  ordinary  railway 
hotel  is  not,  ensconced  as  it  is  in  a  green  corner 
of  the  cliff  above  the  new  harbour  works,  with  a 
wild  headland  beyond  and  remains  of  cromlechs 
almost  at  its  back-door.  On  reaching  the  terminus 
and  alighting,  you  have  the  village  rising  on  your 
left  and  stretching  along  the  cliff,  a  mixture  of 
brand-new  houses  and  nice  old  cottages,  while  to 
the  right  you  have  the  flat  salt-marsh  with  the 
road  to  Fishguard  running  behind  the  gravel  bank 
of  the  beach  across  it. 

At  the  very  high  tides  this  half-mile  or  more 
of  beach  is  reduced  to  a  narrow  strip  or  to  nothing, 
and  the  sand  is  hardly  of  Tenby  quality.  The 
rocks  on  either  side  of  Fishguard  Bay  are  basaltic, 
and  take  at  the  neighbouring  corner  of  "  Pen- 
anglas"  and  elsewhere  most  curious  shapes. 
Hence  the  queer  name  given  them  by  the  Fish- 
guard  children — "  torthau  ceiniogau  " — i.e.,  penny 
loaves. 

The  headland  on  which  the  village  of  Llanwnda 
stands  high  can  be  reached  by  the  Llanwnda  road, 
or  by  the  slant  path  climbing  the  heathy  slope 


332  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

behind  the  Wyncliff  Hotel.  Llanwnda  is  the  only 
parish  in  Wales  or  Great  Britain  that  can  claim 
to  have  been  invaded  by,  and  to  have  itself 
defeated,  a  French  army.  To  be  sure,  it  seems  in 
the  retrospect  a  comedy  invasion ;  but  it  roused 
terror  enough  at  the  time.  The  place,  says  the 
Cambrian  Guide,  was  for  ages  obscure,  till  Tuesday, 
the  20th  of  February,  1797,  when  three  large 
vessels  were  discovered  standing  in  from  the 
channel,  and  nearing  the  rocky  coast  of  Llanwnda. 
These  were  supposed  to  be  becalmed  merchant- 
men, coming  to  anchor  in  order  to  wait  the 
return  of  the  tide,  or  a  brisker  gale ;  but  on 
their  nearer  approach,  a  most  serious  alarm  was 
excited."  After  a  pause  indeed  the  English  colours 
were  struck,  and  the  French  tricolour  was  boldly 
displayed;  and  at  nightfall  "boats  were  seen 
putting  off  from  their  sides,  full  of  men,  followed 
by  others  fully  manned,  and  in  such  rapid  suc- 
cession as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  their  being  an 
enemy.  They  disembarked  at  Aber-y-felin,  rolling 
their  casks  of  ammunition  up  a  precipitous  steep  ; 
a  task  so  herculean  as  almost  to  exceed  credibility. 
The  night  was  dark,  and  in  consequence  the 
number  of  the  enemy  could  not  be  ascertained ; 
the  inhabitants  in  the  vicinity  deserted  their 
houses,  and  taking  refuge  among  rocks  and  furze, 
waited  within  sight  of  their  dwellings,  expecting 
to  see  them  ravaged  and  burnt.  The  townsmen 
of  Fishguard  caught  the  general  panic,  and  rapidly 
removed  their  wives,  children,  and  valuables.  The 
first  impulse  of  the  invading  crew  was  to  satisfy 
hunger ;  the  fields  were  occupied  in  the  business 
of  cookery,  and  the  order  of  the  night  was 
plunder !  Gluttony  was  succeeded  by  intoxica- 
tion. A  wreck  of  wine  had  occurred  a  few  days 


THE  NORTH  PEMBROKE  COAST       333 

before,  and  every  cottage  was  supplied  with  a 
cask." 

At  Trehowel  Farm,  the  master  of  the  house, 
believing  the  vessels  to  be  English,  prepared  a 
great  supper  for  their  officers,  and  only  escaped 
at  the  last  moment.  In  all,  thirty  to  forty  farms 
and  many  cottages  were  raided,  but  the  local 
historian  says,  "wonderfully  little  mischief  and 
scarcely  any  violence  was  done."  It  was  the  more 
surprising  as  the  invaders  were  mainly  French 
convicts.  "  At  a  farm  called  Cotts,  a  poor  woman 
recently  confined  had  been  abandoned  by  her 
cowardly  husband.  When  the  Frenchmen  entered 
the  house,  in  her  despair  she  held  up  her  baby 
in  her  arms  " — and,  respecting  her  condition,  they 
soothed  her  fears  and  left  her  in  peace.  In  all, 
two  Welshmen  (who  had  already  attacked  and 
killed  one  Frenchman)  were  killed ;  one  young 
woman  was  shot  and  ill-treated,  but  survived,  and 
a  Solva  sailor  was  wounded.  Meanwhile,  Lord 
Cawdor  at  Stackpole  and  Lord  Milford  were  able, 
on  receiving  the  alarm,  to  muster  some  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  militiamen  and  yeomanry ;  and 
these,  with  the  aid  of  Captain  William  Davies,  who 
had  seen  some  service,  were  disposed  to  look  as 
formidable  as  possible.  But  the  Fishguard  version 
of  the  story  of  this  gallant  defence  is  the  most 
gratifying :  and  in  this  it  was  the  great  Jemima 
in  her  het  befr  and  her  "  red  shawl  "  (shol  Jemima) 
who  was  both  heroine  and  commander-in- chief  of 
the  victorious  Welsh  battalion  that  figured  in  the 
heights  above  Fishguard. 

It  was  Wednesday  when  the  invaders  landed. 
On  Thursday,  at  noon,  when  they  were  posted 
above  the  village  of  Llanwnda,  the  French  frigates 
surprised  both  friends  and  foes  ashore  by  setting 


334  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

sail.  That  night  an  attack  was  planned  by  the 
allied  forces,  led  by  Lord  Cawdor  and  the  gallant 
Jemima  ;  but  luckily  was  not  carried  out.  Then 
two  French  officers  came  over  to  Fishguard,  under 
a  flag  of  truce  :  a  council  of  war  at  the  "  Royal 
Oak,"  Fishguard,  followed  ;  and  a  game  of  bluff, 
in  which  an  English  officer  lied  to  admiration, 
multiplied  the  English  forces  in  his  account  by 
ten,  resulted  in  the  preliminary  compliments  to 
the  surrender  of  the  French  forces  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  which  took  place  duly  at  Goodwick. 
Thence  the  whole  force  of  prisoners  was  marched 
off  to  Haverfordwest  Castle.  The  French 
soldiers,  says  Mr.  Laws,  were  clad  in  old  English 
uniforms,  re-dyed  a  rusty  brown,  and  still  furnished 
with  regimental  buttons ;  with  these  they  wore 
black  belts  and  old  cavalry  helmets.  So  ended 
this  comedy  of  war,  which,  however,  was  meant 
seriously  enough. 

Welsh  shawls  that  will  wear  for  ever  are  still 
made  at  Fishguard,  which  has  had  for  long  a 
reputation  for  homespun.  The  town  enjoys  the 
privileges  of  an  old  borough.  It  was  built,  you 
will  observe,  in  two  halves  :  known  locally  as  the 
"  town  "  and  the  "  lower  town."  The  latter,  which 
is  probably  the  older  of  the  two,  explains  the 
Welsh  name  "Abergwaen,"  since  it  lies  at  the 
aber  or  outlet  of  the  little  Gwaen  river,  enclosed 
in  a  sheltering  sea-cwm. 

Approaching  Fishguard  from  Goodwick  Station, 
the  road  makes  a  sharp  zigzag  up  the  bank  at 
the  end  of  the  marshy  level — scene  of  the  old 
battle-field  where  Trahearn  ap  Caradog  defeated 
Rhys  ab  Owain — sometimes  known  as  Goodwick 
Moor.  The  bank  brings  the  bicyclist  off  his 
machine,  and  makes  the  average  Fishguard  horse 


THE   CASTLE,    NEWPORT,   PEMBROKESHIRE. 


Photos  by} 


[Prof.  y.  Morgan  Lewis,  Aberyslwyth. 
LLECH-Y-DRYBEDD   CROMLECH. 

To  face  p.  335. 


THE   NORTH  PEMBROKE   COAST       335 

drop  his  head  and  prepare  for  a  pull.  Avoiding 
the  road  which  runs  off  to  the  right  of  the  village, 
you  are  soon  in  the  "  Square."  The  town  will  not 
delay  you  if  you  are  a  tourist ;  but  below  its 
apparent  ugly  surface  it  is  full  of  character. 
Besides  its  own  particular  creek  and  beach,  Fish- 
guard,  too,  has  on  the  north  a  good  stretch  of 
coast — rock  and  grassy  cliffs  and  miniature  moun- 
tains— including  Ceiliog  Goch  and  Penrhyn 
Ychain,  and  the  sea-commanding  outposts  of 
Carn  Fran  and  Carn  Gelli. 

Nearly  opposite  a  draper's  shop  in  the  main 
street,  as  you  leave  the  square  on  the  way  to 
the  lower  town,  you  may  see  the  memorial  stone 
to  the  redoubtable  Jemima,  after  whom  the  red 
shawl,  known  locally  as  "shol  Jemima,"  took  its 
name.  The  monument  may  easily  be  deciphered 
through  the  railings,  and  the  inscription  shows 
plainly  that  it  was  the  Amazon  cohort  in  the 
"  shol  goch,"  and  not  the  magnificent  lies  of  one 
English  officer,  or  the  parade  of  the  Pembroke 
fencibles,  who  saved  Great  Britain  from  the 
enemy  and  the  invader.  Jemima  was,  I  believe, 
like  Meg  Merrilies,  "as  tall  as  Amazon,"  and  of 
great  muscular  strength.  She  was  a  cobbler  by 
trade,  and  her  craft  should  certainly  enshrine  her. 

Above  the  "lower  town,"  where  Jemima  lived 
and  cobbled,  the  Gwaen  flows  past  the  remains 
of  an  old  British  town  near  the  old  quarry  at 
Caerau.  The  road  from  the  square  in  the  town 
above  which  runs  to  Pontvaen,  up  the  Gwaen 
valley,  brings  one  to  Caerau  by  a  track  across 
the  meadows  of  Caerau  Farm  on  the  left ;  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  you  have  "Hen 
Fynwent "  —  an  old  burial-ground,  as  its  name 
tells  you. 


336  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

North  of  Fishguard  lies  Dinas  Head  with  its 
cliffs  and  vast  cave,  through  which  a  boat  may 
pass  at  half  ebb,  as  wild  a  piece  of  architecture 
as  sea  ever  carved.  Llanllawer  Court  lies  at  the 
western  end  of  the  hill  in  the  Gwaen  valley,  in 
a  very  covetable  site.  One  of  the  fairest  of 
riverside  roads  traverses  this  wooded  vale  on  to 
Pontvaen  and  beyond.  Emerging  at  length,  the 
wayfarer  crosses  the  moorish,  treeless  uplands 
of  Carn  Ingli  Common  and  so  reaches  Newport. 
Dinas  Head  is  locally  called  the  "  Island,"  the 
little  Dinas'  mill-brook  serving  to  island  it  on 
the  east.  The  sea  is  making  vigorous  inroads 
on  the  north  side  of  the  Head,  at  Cwm-yr-Eglwys, 
the  green  cwm  where  the  ruined  church  and 
some  dilapidated  cottages  bear  testimony  to  its 
advance. 

Some  years  ago,  accompanied  by  the  hereditary 
chieftain  of  this  district  who  is  also  an  incorri- 
gible book-hunter,  and  the  author  of  Ffordd  y 
Troseddwr  and  other  novels  (now  alas  !  a  B.C.L. 
and  M.P.),  I  and  G.  R.  took  boat  at  Cwm-yr-Eglwys 
beach,  and  explored  the  great  cave.  The  boat, 
it  may  be  said,  was  manned  by  a  famous  crew 
consisting  entirely  of  retired  sea-captains,  some 
six  or  seven.  They  rowed  us  right  into  the  mouth 
of  the  cavern,  a  great  Gothic  water-church,  with 
mysterious  and  awful  recesses.  Two  of  us  landed, 
if  I  rightly  remember,  on  one  ledge  in  the  chancel, 
and  on  the  way  back  we  just  saw  a  seal's  head, 
like  a  big  water-rat's,  before  he  dived. 

On  the  grassy  cliffs  of  the  island  the  last  herd 
of  wild  goats  in  Wales  still  pastures  ;  and  as  the 
boat  carried  us  round  the  headland  two  of  the 
nimble  beasts  could  be  seen  browsing  on  the  verge 
of  the  precipice.  The  whole  island  is  held  as  one 


THE  NORTH  PEMBROKE  COAST       337 

farm,  and  by  the  same  family  (Raymond  by  name) 
that  has  held  it  for  centuries. 

Going  north-east  from  Dinas  Cross,  you  reach 
Newport  about  a  league  along  the  Cardigan  road. 
Like  the  other  Newport,  the  town  has  a  past.  A 
plague  in  the  sixteenth  century  is  but  a  thing 
of  yesterday,  as  you  realise  on  surveying  its 
castle  and  asking  how  Parrog  got  its  name. 
Across  the  river,  which  can  be  forded  when  the 
tide  and  flood-water  permit,  or  crossed  by  the 
new  bridge  from  Parrog  Terrace,  lies  a  second 
range  of  sands,  the  Berry  sands,  under  Berry 
Hill  (so  called  from  the  old  demesne  of  Bury). 
A  path  runs  along  the  cliffs  toward  Aberfforest ; 
and  there  are  no  end  of  summer  loitering-places 
on  one  beach  or  the  other.  Near  the  Berry  bridge 
is  a  cromlech — one  of  the  series  that  may  yet 
make  the  North  Pembroke  coast  famous  in  the 
history  before  history.  Newport  Castle,  still  used 
as  a  dwelling-house  (sometime  occupied  by  Mr. 
Brett,  the  sea-painter),  has  fine  gateway  towers ; 
but  the  cromlechs  were  already  old  when  it  was 
built. 

Still  further  up  the  hill,  a  hundred  yards  to 
the  left  of  the  same  road,  is  the  site  of  the  Castle 
of  Llanhyvor,  the  "  Castrum  de  Llanhover "  men- 
tioned by  Gerald,  which  was  built  by  Martin 
de  Tours  ;  and  afterwards,  it  is  said,  relinquished 
for  the  new  castle  he  had  built  at  Newport.  Its 
gras3-grown  vestiges  show  it  was  probably  de- 
serted early  in  the  Castle  period. 

But  the  Nevern  "lion"  of  antiquity  is  the  fine 
Pentre  Evan  cromlech,  about  half  an  hour's  walk 
from  the  church,  across  the  river  and  beyond  the 
Cardigan  high-road.  Within  the  last  four  or  five 
years  it  has  for  protective  purposes  been  sur- 

22 


338  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

rounded  by  a  wire  fence.  It  stands  on  the  moor 
above  the  old  house  of  Pentre  Evan,  now  a  farm 
but  once  a  mansion  of  some  state.  It  is  as  well 
to  ask  for  directions  at  the  Penaf  Wern-ddu 
Farm,  beyond  Pentre  half  a  mile,  as  the  cromlech 
is  difficult  to  find.  The  capstone  of  this  cromlech 
is  nearly  seventeen  feet  long,  nearly  nine  feet 
broad,  and  three  deep ;  it  stands  nearly  nine  feet 
from  the  ground.  The  capstone  weighs  from  ten 
to  twelve  tons. 

Straight  from  the  cromlech  from  Nevern  you 
ought  to  find  your  way  to  Castell  Mawr,  2£  miles 
east  of  it :  a  wonderful  camp,  only  less  interesting 
than  Cam  Goch.  Descending  from  the  camp  to 
the  valley  of  the  Nevern,  you  will  find  a  valley- 
scene  wild  as  any  north  or  south,  at  the  Gelli 
rocks,  which  look  much  more  like  a  castle  than 
does  Castell  Mawr.  The  river-cliff  architecture 
there  suggests  the  region  of  Don  Quixote.  Indeed, 
the  rocks  near  Melin-y-Gigfran  (Raven's  Mill)  may 
easily  pass  for  enchanted,  like  those  in  the  Cornish 
tale  of  the  Trolls  wrestling,  if  you  chance  that 
way  at  dusk.*  One  evening,  driving  over  to  Dinas 
Cross  in  a  crazy  gig,  we  certainly  saw  strange 
things  there  at  nightfall.  But  then  we  had  a 
driver,  a  small  boy,  who  was  not  sure  of  the 
road,  and  we  were  light-headed  from  hunger 
after  a  railway  journey. 

Carn  Engli  may  be  ascended  from  the  lane 
behind  Newport  Church,  and  from  various  points 
above  in  the  upper  road,  which  makes  a  detour 
to  the  Gwaen  valley  and  Fishguard.  The  Gwaen 
cuts  off  Carn  Engli  from  the  westward  heights 
of  Precelly,  to  whose  range  it  belongs  :  George 

*  Hunt's  Romances  and  Drolls  of  the  West  of  England,  see 
p.  241  :  "  The  Hooting  Cairn  "  (Cairn  Kenidzhek). 


THE  NORTH  PEMBROKE  COAST       339 

Owen's  picture  of  Carn  Engli  is  as  true  now  as 
the  day  it  was  "  painted  "  : — 

"The  high  sharpe  rocke  over  Newport,  called  Carn 
Englyn,  supposed  by  the  vulgar  to  take  its  appellative  from 
a  Cawr  or  giant  of  that  name,  is  a  very  steepe  and  stony 
mountaine,  having  the  toppe  thereof  sharp,  and  all  rockes 
shewing  from  the  E.  and  by  N.  like  the  upper  part  of  the 
capital  Greek  omega  (9).  The  pasture  of  this  mountaine 
was  given  in  common  by  Nicholaus  filius  Martini,  then 
lord  of  Kernes,  to  the  burgesses  of  his  town  of  Newport, 
which  they  enjoy  to  this  day,  with  divers  other  freedomes 
and  liberties  to  them  granted  by  divers  charters  yet  extant 
and  faire,  sealed  with  his  scale  of  the  armes  of  the  saide 
lordshipp  of  Kernes,  but  all  of  that  antiquity  that  they  are 
sans  date.  This  mountaine  is  several  miles  in  circuit,  and 
surmounteth  all  other  for  good  sheep  pasture,  both  for 
fatting  and  soundness,  and  especially  commodious  in  this, 
that  noe  snowe  stayeth  on  it,  by  reason  of  the  neernes 
of  the  sea,  and  that  it  is  watered  with  fine  and  cleare 
springes.  Frenny-fawr,  the  first  and  most  easterly  point 
of  the  long  Presselly  line,  and  this  the  last  and  most  w., 
Carn  Englyn,  stand  as  captaine  and  lieutenant,  the  one 
leading  the  vannegarde,  the  other  following  the  rere-warde, 
among  whom  Cwm  Ceiivyn,  being  neere  middway  between 
them,  may  well,  for  his  high  stature  overlooking  the  rest, 
clayme  the  place  of  standard-bearer." 

To  Owen's  account  we  may  add  that  Carn 
Engli,  like  Moel  Tri-garn,  has  many  hut-circles 
within  a  brief  walk  westward  of  the  chief  earn, 
which  is  just  a  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  and 
commands  a  superb  view  of  nearly  all  the  "Welsh 
heights  of  consequence,  from  Precelly  to  Plyn- 
limmon,  from  Cader  Idris  to  the  peaks  which 
determine  the  great  curved  rampart  of  mountains 
around  Cardigan  Bay. 

Precelly  Mountain  can  be  attacked  from  New- 
port if  you  are  making  that  place  your  centre. 


340  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

But  if  you  work  from  Fishguard  you  can  use 
the  railway  that  skirts  the  mountain,  take  train 
ingloriously  to  Rosebush  Station,  whence  the 
climbing  of  Precelly  top  is  easy.  Rosebush,  in 
fact,  is  within  an  hour's  easy  climb  of  the 
summit,  and  if  the  adventure  ends  there  it  need 
not  ask  more  than  an  afternoon  holiday  or  the 
time  between  two  trains. 

But  it  must  be  held  in  mind  that  Precelly  is  a 
rather  coy  creature.  She  makes  up  for  her 
smaller  stature  by  her  cloudy  elusions.  You  may 
take  train  to  her  side  on  the  clearest,  bluest 
summer  morning  to  find  a  white  shawl  hiding 
her  pretty  head.  In  fact,  it  is  as  well  before 
starting  to  take  the  advice  of  some  native  who 
has  used  the  "  Top  "  as  a  sort  of  weather-glass 
for  forty  or  fifty  years.  Venture  then  at  your 
peril,  even  if  he  says  decisively  it  is  "  goin'  to  be 
f a'r  ! "  June  and  September  are  the  months  when 
clear  days  most  do  occur. 

Rosebush  itself  is  no  more  than  a  row  of 
quarrymen's  cottages  with  an  adjacent  hotel  to 
cater  for  visitors.  On  leaving  the  station,  turn 
to  the  left  of  the  hotel  and  the  cottages,  and 
take  the  path  ascending  above  the  quarry.  The 
track  lies  straight  before,  unmistakably  making 
for  the  top  of  the  nearer  ascent.  The  whole 
climb  need  not  occupy  more  than  an  hour,  though 
in  wet  weather  there  are  one  or  two  swampy 
passages.  From  the  first  and  highest  of  the 
summits  Moel  Cwm  Cerwyn,  or  the  "  Top,"  you 
see  southward  all  the  mingled  loveliness  and 
dreariness  of  Pembrokeshire  :  its  woods  and  shel- 
tered vales,  its  curled,  interminable  coast-line  and 
grey  seaward  levels.  The  woods  about  the  Cleddau, 
almost  direct  south,  at  Slebech  and  Picton,  partly 


THE  NORTH  PEMBROKE  COAST       341 

hidden,  fill  in  a  darker  green  space  in  late  summer. 
To  the  left  lie  Carmarthen  Bay  and  Worm's  Head 
and  the  western  end  of  Gower;  to  the  right 
George  Owen's  "  tree  " — that  is  Milf ord  Haven — less 
like  a  tree  than  a  confused  water-snake,  some  of 
its  brown  or  blue  folds  hidden,  Pembroke  Castle 
set  in  its  middle  coil.  Direct  north,  most  im- 
pressive of  all,  are  the  Eifl  mountains  and  part 
of  Snowdon,  seen  across  Cardigan  Bay.  Westward, 
or  slightly  south-westward,  we  have  the  peninsula 
and  headland  of  St.  David's — rather  featureless 
in  effect  as  seen  from  this  height.  St.  David's 
Cathedral  is  hidden.  But  beyond  the  St.  David's 
promontory  and  island  spurs,  on  a  very  clear  day 
with  a  north-westerly  wind,  the  coast  of  Ireland 
can  be  spied  like  a  lower  sky. 

One  of  the  separate  arms  of  Precelly,  Freni 
Fawr  ("Y  Frenhin  Fawr,"  or  the  Great  King?) 
1,287  feet  above  sea-level,  becomes  a  very  familiar 
landmark  on  the  right  as  one  travels  by  train 
along  its  skirts  from  Crymmych  Arms  to  Cardigan ; 
and  from  the  former  station  it  is  only  an  hour's 
climb  to  the  summit.  Or,  having  ascended  Precelly 
Top  from  Rosebush,  the  inveterate  hill-walker  who 
is  not  content  will  have  no  trouble  in  exploring 
the  whole  ridge  eastwards  to  Moel  Trigarn.  Des- 
cending at  Crymmych  Arms,  he  can  spend  the 
night  there.  Moel  or  Foel  Trigarn  is  so  called 
because  of  its  three  great  cairns.  Many  stone 
circles,  or  "cyttiau,"  are  scattered  on  the  slopes. 
An  ancient  Roman  way  runs  along  the  five  miles 
of  mountain- top  between  Moel  Trigarn  and  Moel 
Cwm  Cerwyn,  which  was  used  by  Welsh  and 
Fleming  too,  to  judge  by  the  name  "Via  Flan- 
drica,"  by  which  it  went. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

CARDIGAN — CILGEBRAN     CASTLE — ST.       DOGMELL/S — 
THE   STORY  OF  PERGRIN— GWBERT-ON-SEA 

AT  the  time  when  Welsh  legends  were  exported  to 
France  and  Normandy,  Cardigan  was  always  a 
name  to  charm  with  ;  and  something  of  that  effect 
the  place  and  its  sleepy  streets  and  quays,  castle 
and  bridge,  contrive  still  to  keep.  It  was  "  to  a 
Castle  hight  Cardigan "  that  Sir  Percival  and 
Sir  Agloval  came  riding  once  toward  the  end  of 
the  Quest  of  the  Grail.  But  at  midnight  Percival 
stole  away  mysteriously.  When  you  cross  the 
bridge  into  the  town,  and  spy  the  Castle,  you 
wonder  which  road  he  took?  Was  the  Priory 
into  which  he  and  Sir  Ector  wished  to  be  carried 
next  day  St.  Dogmell's  ? 

In  crossing  Cardigan  Bridge  you  leave  Pem- 
brokeshire— in  which  Cardigan  railway  station  is 
placed — for  the  neighbour-county.  The  bridge — 
as  old  prints  declare — made  a  better  picture  for- 
merly, and  a  much  better  lounging-place,  with 
bays  at  every  parapet.  When  it  was  built  the 
Castle  commanded  it,  as  Speed's  map  of  the  year 
1610  shows.  The  Castle  ruins  have  dwindled  by 
half  in  the  last  three  centuries,  if  we  may  take 
his  view  as  at  all  accurate.  Its  curtain-wall,  ivy 
grown,  and  a  part  of  two  gateway  towers  are  all 

342 


CARDIGAN  343 

that  greet  the  eye  now ;  and  as  the  interior  forms 
an  adjunct  to  a  private  house,  it  is  not  open  to 
every  visitor.  The  old  parish  church  lies  off  to  the 
right  of  the  Castle,  but  the  stranger  to  Cardigan,  if 
he  wishes  to  exploit  the  town,  will  follow  the  usual 
route  up  the  narrow  ascent  of  Bridge  Street.  The 
entrance  to  the  Castle  is  on  the  right  hand,  as  we 
enter  the  High  Street ;  and  just  before  it  stood 
the  town  "Cross,"  round  which  the  open  market 
used  to  be  held,  with  the  old  Shire  Hall,  turned 
into  a  warehouse  now,  old  Market  Lane  and  St. 
Mary  Street  to  fill  in  other  details.  One  of  the 
most  puzzling  of  the  street  names  in  Speed's  plan 
is  "  Pole  Hey  "—i.e.,  "  Y  Pwllai."  The  Pwllai  runs 
out  into  the  foot  of  St.  Mary  Street,  making  a 
curve  to  the  east  of  the  old  town  wall,  for  Car- 
digan was  a  walled  town,  needing  its  defences  to 
keep  out  freebooters  like  Maelgan.  But  the  siege 
of  Cardigan  by  Cromwell's  men  in  the  Civil  War 
worked  havoc  in  town  walls  and  Castle  alike. 

Cardigan  Church,  as  it  stands  amid  its  ecclesi- 
astical elms  and  beeches,  is  an  architectural 
medley  which  age  has  tempered  and  made  into  a 
whole  of  some  dignity.  The  big  battlemented 
tower  has  a  capital  outlook  from  its  platform, 
worth  the  toil  of  the  many  stairs  leading  to  it. 
It  is  not  of  any  age  to  speak  of,  dating  from  1710 
onwards — the  old  tower  having  collapsed  a  few 
years  before.  The  chancel  is  an  extreme  contrast 
— a  fine  Decorated  building,  with  airy  pinnacles  to 
its  machicolated  roof.  Close  to  the  church  the 
Priory  stands  upon  the  site  of  a  small  Black 
Friars'  house,  only  one  or  two  fragments  of 
whose  walls  remain. 

The  Priory  is  famous  because  here  for  some 
years  lived  the  "Matchless  Orinda,"  Mrs.  Catherine 


344  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Philipps,  who  came  hither  from  London  on  her 
marriage  in  1647,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  to  a  local  squire 
James  Philipps,  who  was  High  Sheriff  of  the 
county  in  1649.  The  "Matchless  Orinda"  died  in 
1664 ;  her  poems,  born  of  a  delicately  imaginative 
mind,  are  still  to  be  read  with  something  of  the 
wonder  that  Henry  Vaughan,  a  young  poet  at 
that  time,  felt  when  he  spoke  of  them  as  a 
miracle — 

' '  Which  Nature  brought  but  once  to  pass, 
A  Muse  such  as  Orinda  was." 

From  the  Priory  gate  you  can  step  quickly  to 
the  riverside,  as  I  daresay  Orinda  often  did ;  and 
there  at  the  Cardigan  Boating  Club's  house,  a  little 
further  up  the  strand,  you  can  hire  a  boat  and  row 
up  to  Kilgarren.  Once  with  Mr.  Walter  Spurrell  of 
Carmarthen,  I  made  this  voyage,  and  we  had  to 
haul  the  boat  over  two  tough  gravelly  reaches; 
but  we  had  our  solace  in  the  deep,  shut-in,  over- 
grown Teivy  pools,  where  the  sea-birds  met  with  shy 
river-fowl,  wild  duck,  and  red-throated  divers,  and 
in  our  arrival  at  last  under  the  broken  banks  of 
the  Castle  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cwm  Plysgog. 

Up  above,  a  closer  acquaintance  with  the  walls 
was  not  so  inspiriting.  The  site  there  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Teivy  with  Nant  Plysgog  amid  the 
steep  slate-cliffs  is  fine  enough  for  everything. 
There  is  an  adventurous  tower,  too,  where  the 
ravines,  big  and  little,  meet,  an  outlook  tower  or 
gutfrite,  which  stirs  the  besieger's  blood  as  he 
prepares  to  rush  the  bank.  But  the  boys  of  the 
quarry-village  near  by  had  left  the  stairs,  when 
we  stormed  them,  in  a  condition  to  repel  any 
invader.  Howbeit  it  is  a  glorious  structure,  and 


Photo  by] 


[Prof.  y.  Morgan  Lewis,  Aberyshvyth. 
CORACLES   ON   THE  TEIVY. 


CARDIGAN   BRIDGE. 
From  an  old  painting. 


To  face  p.  345. 


CARDIGAN  345 

the  two  strong  citadel-towers,  seen  across  the  ward, 
are  worthy  of  the  old  threatening  name  Cilgerran 
bore  in  the  Castle  time. 

The  first  Norman  castle  here  was  begun  by  Hugo 
de  Montgomery.  Then  Gilbert  Strongbow  tried 
his  hand  on  it.  Rhys  ap  Griffith  took  it  from 
the  Normans,  and  held  it  at  his  pleasure.  Then 
came  William  Marshall,  twenty-five  years  after 
Rhys's  death,  and  began  a  castle  on  a  bigger  scale 
altogether.  Previously  Giraldus  had  seen  the  Castle 
on  his  "  Itinerary  "  of  1188,  and  spoken  of  the  salmon 
that  swam  and  the  beavers  that  built  their  dams 
in  the  Teivy  stream.  Joan,  whose  grandfather 
was  William  Marshall,  had  Cilgerran  as  part  of 
her  dot  when  she  married  William  de  Valence  :  and 
this  led  the  Castle  into  many  fighting  combinations. 
But  it  remained  intact  all  through  the  gunless 
mediaeval  days,  and  had  its  great  commotion  only 
in  the  Civil  War,  when  Cromwell's  guns  made 
the  big  breach  in  the  south-western  tower,  and 
prepared  the  place  for  the  slow  ruin  which  you 
see  at  work. 

Cilgerran  Church,  rebuilt  in  1855,  has  a  good 
tower,  recently  retopped  but  older  than  the  rest 
of  the  building.  In  the  churchyard,  on  the  side 
nearest  the  gate,  is  an  Ogam  stone,  the  monu- 
ment of  Trenegussus,  son  of  Macutrenus — so  far 
as  Sir  John  Rhys  has  deciphered  the  much-worn 
ogams.  In  Cilgerran  Church  lies  buried  Dr. 
Thomas  Phaer,  who  translated  Virgil's  ^3Eneid 
into  English,  and  who  lived  at  the  old  mansion 
called  "Forest,"  amid  the  trees  of  Cefn  Drum, 
which  we  passed  on  our  right  on  the  way  up  the 
river.  He  died  in  1560. 

Cilgerran  is  now  a  great  quarrymen's  village ; 
and  it  was  once  a  town  with  aldermen  and  every- 


346  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

thing  proper  about  it.  The  Cefn  Quarries,  which 
lie  within  a  few  minutes  of  Cilgerran  railway 
station,  and  the  upper  village,  which  its  inhabi- 
tants call  Cnwca — it  is  said  from  some  old  tumps 
in  the  near  neighbourhood. 

If  you  go  to  Cilgerran  by  road  your  route  can 
be  varied  on  the  way  back  by  a  path  which  leads 
from  Cwm  Plysgog  and  up  the  bank  beyond  it, 
past  Dr.  Phaer's  old  house,  through  the  lane  under 
the  trees  of  Cefn  Drum,  and  so  across  the  railway 
and  Pentood  Marsh  to  the  town. 

A  mile  or  less  from  the  town  the  Abbey  of  St. 
Dogmell's — "  Abbaty  Llandydoch  " — has  little  of 
its  fine  church  and  attractive  buildings  left ;  and 
the  present  church  is  a  poor  enough  apology  for 
it.  In  the  village  retired  Welsh  sea-captains  and 
Teivy  salmon  fishermen  live  on  the  long-extended 
street  and  in  the  cottages  beyond  posted  on  the 
green  banks  and  foot-hills.  You  turn  to  the  left 
for  St.  Dogmell's  on  reaching  the  Bridge-end  side 
of  Cardigan  bridge ;  and  gaining  the  outskirts, 
have  the  church  on  your  left  just  beyond  Cwm 
Tegwel.  The  Abbey  ruins  lie  chiefly  within  the 
Vicarage  grounds ;  one  of  the  transepts,  some  of 
the  main  walls  and  cloister  walls,  and  some  of 
the  kitchen  and  domestic  offices  and  a  detached 
guest-house,  are  about  all  that  remains  of  them. 
An  Ogam  stone,  that  was  carried  off,  and  then 
by  good  hap  recovered,  stands  against  the  refec- 
tory wall ;  the  letters  read :  "  Sagrani  Fili  Cuno- 
tami " ;  but  who  Sagranus  or  Cunotamus  was  I 
leave  you  to  conjecture.  St.  Dogmell's  parish 
church  of  to-day  is  some  fifty  years  old  or 
more ;  and  is  not  interesting. 

On  a  hot  July  afternoon  St.  Dogmell's  seems 
almost  interminable  ;  but  at  length,  if  you  keep 


CARDIGAN  347 

the  riverside  road,  turning  off  from  the  village* 
you  pass  a  coastguard  station  and  then  half  a 
mile  further  on  reach  an  estuary-side  strand,  a 
sort  of  mixture  of  village  green  and  sands.  This 
strand  is  known  as  the  "  Poppit "  ;  and  the  local 
guide-book  hints  that  a  watering-place  has  been 
projected  there  by  a  company.  The  two  or  three 
available  lodging-houses  near  it  are  in  great 
demand  in  the  summer  and  autumn. 

Beyond  the  "Poppit"  you  come  to  Penrhyn 
Castle  Bay,  with  the  river-bar  between  it  and 
Gwbert  Bay  opposite.  Lifeboat  and  coastguard 
station  are  within  the  west  scoop  of  the  bay ; 
the  hill  above  Penrhyn  Farm  commands  a  fine 
view  of  the  coast,  up  and  down  ;  and  farm  roads 
and  lanes  that  hug  the  coast  southward  can  be 
followed  on  to  Moylgrove,  past  Pen-yr-Afr  and 
Pwll  Gronant — a  rather  desolate  sea-walk  on  a 
grey  day.  There  is  little  to  see  at  Moglgrove, 
but  a  mile  from  the  village  is  Ceibwr  Bay — a 
good  spot  for  a  stolen  bathe.  Here,  and  at  the 
Witch's  Cauldron  in  the  next  sea-cwm,  was  a 
famous  old  smugglers'  haunt.  The  Cauldron  is 
a  most  mischievous  cave  and  in  its  depths  are 
fabulous  treasures  if  they  could  only  be  got  at  ? 

Across  the  water  lies  Gwbert-on-Sea,  whose 
downs  and  sands,  rocks  and  caves,  are  contrived 
after  a  rather  seductive  fashion.  It  has  a  good 
safe  beach  for  timid  bathers,  and  deep-water 
inlets  for  divers  and  good  swimmers.  The  road 
thither  from  Cardigan  was  rough,  with  loose 
sandy  stretches  interspersed,  when  I  cycled  over 
it;  but  no  doubt  that  is  altered  now.  At  one 
point  beyond  the  grassy  dunes  and  sand  burrows 
of  Towyn  Warren  I  remember  a  wonderful  out- 
look over  the  Teivy  estuary  and  its  surroundings 


348  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

on  both  sides  the  river-mouth,  including  St.  Dog- 
mell's  and  the  hills  about  Newport  and  Precelly, 
and  the  sea  bright  beyond  Gwbert.  It  called  to 
mind  the  spacious  approach  to  Southerndown  on 
just  such  another  bright-aired  afternoon. 

If  you  go  out  fishing  off  the  mouth  of  the  Teivy, 
you  should  recall  the  story  of  Pergrin  and  the 
Mermaid.  Pergrin  was  a  St.  Dogmell's  fisherman 
who  one  day  spied  in  a  rocky  cleft  near  Pen 
Cemmes  a  sea-maid  engaged  at  the  immemorial 
task  of  combing  her  beautiful  hair.  He  contrived 
to  seize  her  and  take  her  off  to  his  boat,  the  while 
she  wept  piteously,  her  hair  all  dishevelled  about 
her,  begging  him  for  mercy.  But  he  would  not 
give  way  to  her  cries  until  in  an  agony  she  said, 
"  Pergrin,  let  me  go,  and  I  will  give  thee  three 
shouts  in  the  hour  of  need  ! " 

So,  what  with  wonder  and  fear,  he  let  her  go 
to  walk  the  street  of  the  deep  and  visit  her  lovers. 
Days  and  weeks  went  by  without  a  sign  of  her. 
But  one  sultry  afternoon,  when  the  sea  was  calm 
enough,  and  the  fishermen  were  plying  their  craft 
with  no  thought  of  a  storm,  Pergrin  suddenly 
heard  a  voice  in  the  water  near  his  boat.  It  was 
the  Mor-forwyn,  or  sea-maiden,  whose  upturned 
face  and  floating  hair  appeared  like  froth  in  the 
salt  water,  as  she  cried — 

"  PERGRIN  !    PERGRIN  1    PBRGRIN  ! 
Haul  in!    Haul  in!    Haul  in!" 

He  and  his  mate  at  once  obeyed,  and  hauled  in 
their  nets  and  made  for  the  bar.  By  the  time 
they  got"  to  Pwll  Cam  the  most  terrible  storm 
broke  that  the  coast  had  known.  Twice  nine 
other  fishermen  who  had  sailed  out  to  the  fishing- 


CARDIGAN  349 

grounds  were  caught  in  the  storm  and  drowned. 
Only  Pergrin  and  his  mate  stood  safe  on  land, 
thanks  to  the  three  timely  shouts  given  them  by 
the  sea-maid. 

The  same  story,  or  one  very  like  it,  is  told  on 
the  coast  of  Lleyn,  Carnarvonshire ;  and  it  is 
even  hinted  that  this  is  only  a  secondary  version 
supplied  by  Gwynionydd.*  But  there  are  mer- 
maid stories  on  every  coast,  and  I  fancy  there  is 
much  folk-lore  and  sea-lore  yet  waiting  to  be 
recovered  at  St.  Dogmell's. 

*  See  Celtic  Folklore,  by  (Sir)  John  Rhys,  ch.  ii.,  "The 
Fairies'  Revenge"  (pp.  163,  164). 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  CARDIGAN  COAST— ABEBPORTH — LLANGRANOG 
AND  TRAETHSAITH — NEW  QUAY — LLANDYSILIO — 
GOGO — ABERAERON 

ABERPORTH  is  some  7f  miles  north  of  Cardigan 
town  and  about  six  or  seven  miles  round  the  coast 
from  Gwbert-on-Sea.  Well  situated  on  the  porth 
or  small  harbour  that  gives  it  its  name,  it  has 
two  or  three  stretches  of  good  sands,  and  it  is 
yet  unspoilt  by  too  many  villas  and  improvements. 
From  Gwbert  and  northward,  on  past  Aberporth 
and  Traethsaith  to  Penbryn  and  Llangranog,  this 
part  of  the  coast  is  well  built. 

Aberporth,  however,  is  a  civil  resort ;  that  is  to 
say,  it  has  a  choice  of  houses — bungalows,  villas 
with  gardens  and  tennis  lawns,  and  at  least  three 
kinds  of  jam  in  the  village  commissariat.  Long 
ago  it  was  discovered  by  an  artist  looking  for 
a  new  neighbourhood,  and  he  is  said  to  have 
made  a  fortune  in  Italian  seascapes  and  land- 
scapes painted  here.  There  is  just  enough  sea- 
faring life  in  the  harbour  to  serve  artistic  ends. 
About  once  a  week  a  steamer  arrives  from  Cardi- 
gan and  Bristol.  Sailing-boats,  rowing-boats, 
fishing-boats,  and  even  a  small  yacht  may  be 
hired  for  a  sail  round  Pen  Cribach  and  the  Allt 
Goch  cliffs.  For  bathing  there  are  the  Dyffryn 

360 


THE  CARDIGAN  COAST  NORTHWARDS     351 

sands  and  the   beach  at  Cribach   Bay,    and  one 
or  two  little  coves,  when  the  tide  is  available. 

The  porth  has  on  one  side  the  narrow  neck 
which  ends  at  Fath  Gareg,  and  on  the  other  the 
bold  headland  rising  from  Cribach  Bay  and  the 
cliffs  of  Cribach  and  Allt  Goch  to  a  height  of 
five  hundred  feet  or  so.  There  are  caves  like  Dol- 
wen  to  be  reached  by  boat  or  by  scrambling,  on 
both  sides  of  Aberporth,  and  fishing  in  the  har- 
bour produces  whiting,  rock-codling,  plaice  &c., 
while  further  out  when  the  mackerel  come,  there 
is  every  chance  of  making  a  fair  haul  any 
morning.  The  name  Ogof  (Welsh,  a  "  cave " ) 
seems  to  be  used  here  sometimes  for  the  sharp 
indented  creeks  which  abound  on  this  coast,  as 
well  as  for  a  cave  proper  with  roof  and  the  rest 
complete. 

Traethsaith,  another  of  the  newer  seaside  places 
of  this  Cardigan  coast,  stretches  up  a  green  cwm 
from  the  opening  and  sheltered  hollow  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Bern.  The  older  cottages,  hidden 
in  the  cwm  and  within  a  brief  walk  of  the  sea, 
form  at  one  point  such  a  rural  hamlet  as  one 
might  expect  to  find  deep  in  the  country.  The 
sands  below  at  the  aber  of  the  Bern  are  very 
good,  with  a  gradual  descent  and  a  beach  for 
bathing.  Northwards  the  stretch  of  sands  on 
toward  Penbryn  is  one  of  the  finest  this  coast 
can  offer  you  anywhere.  When  the  tide  serves 
the  beach  along  the  sands  from  Traethsaith  and 
past  the  next  rocky  corner  affords  a  long  ram- 
bling-ground. It  can  be  extended  too  at  will  by 
taking  to  the  cliffs  beyond  the  Penbryn  cwm,  and 
exploring  Llangranog  and,  still  further  away, 
Ynys  Lochtyn. 

Penbryn,  a  little   more   than   a   mile  north   of 


352  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Traethsaith,  has  a  nice  old  church,  St.  Michael's, 
perfectly  suiting  its  position  by  the  sea  ;  and  a 
pleasant  sea-glen  or  cwm  on  the  Hoffnant.  In 
connection  with  this  cwm  and  the  Llanborth 
beach  below  lingering  tales  of  the  smugglers  who 
landed  their  run-goods  here,  and  hid  them  in  the 
glen,  are  told.  Llanborth,  if  this  be  the  same  as 
Llongborth,  is  famous  in  Arthurian  tradition  ? 

"In  Llongborth,  I  saw  the  battle 
And  biers  beyond  number, 
And  men  blood-stained  from  Geraint's  sword. 

In  Llongborth,  I  saw  the  spurs 

Of  horsemen  who  did  not  flinch  from  the  spears  ; 

And  the  wine-drinking  from  the  bright  glass. 

In  Llongborth,  I  saw  the  weapons 
Of  men,  and  blood  fast  dropping." 

In  Llongborth,  adds  the  poet,  "  I  saw  Arthur,' 
and  in  Llongborth  "  was  Geraint  slain." 

The  glen  or  cwm  of  Nant  Llanborth  above  is 
worth  diving  into.  The  cliffs  near  Penbryn  and 
between  that  and  Llangranog  are  traversed  by  a 
footpath  skirting  their  brinks  with  occasional 
diversions.  The  sea  links,  as  we  discovered,  pro- 
duce (what  is  not  common  in  seaside  pastures) 
plentiful  mushrooms.  Traces  of  an  old  camp  are 
to  be  seen  about  half  a  mile  from  Traeth,  back  on 
the  high  ground  of  Cnwc  y  Rhaglyn ;  and  there  is 
an  old  stone  (which  Sir  John  Rhys  has  recorded) 
about  a  mile  south,  the  other  side  of  the  Penbryn 
hollow,  in  a  corner  of  a  field  above  the  road  near 
the  descent  to  Dyffryn  Bern.  At  Llanborth  Mill, 
where  we  once  ate  blackberry  tart  and  crumpogs, 
the  traditions  of  the  neighbourhood  may  be  dis- 


Photo  by] 


[W.  R.  Hall,  Aberystwyth. 
DANIEL   ROWLANDS,    LLANGEITHO. 


To  face  p.  352. 


THE  CARDIGAN  COAST  NORTHWARDS     353 

cussed.  Castell-Prudd  and  Castell-y-Dolig  and  the 
Gaer  may  be  invaded  afterwards,  on  the  road  to 
Blaenporth  from  Penbryn. 

Llangranog  is  another  village  tucked  away  in  a 
cwm,  with  just  enough  space  at  its  outlet  for  a 
beach  between  the  steep  cliffs  that  enclose  it. 
Above,  the  houses  lie  snug  and  sheltered,  so  that 
the  bracing  Cardigan  air  is  not  too  trying  for 
delicate  folk.  The  easiest  way  to  the  village  is  to 
ride  or  drive  from  Newcastle  Emlyn.  If  bicycling, 
beware  of  the  last  hill  and  zigzag  to  the  head  of 
the  village  from  the  high  moorlands  beyond  NCMT 
Inn.  A  lodging  for  a  night — or  longer — can  be 
had  down  at  the  lower  end  of  the  village,  where  a 
couple  of  inns  and  some  ugly  seaside  houses  are  scat- 
tered among  the  original  cottages  of  the  hamlet. 

Readers  of  the  Welsh  novels  and  romances  of 
"  Allen  Raine  "  will  find  no  great  trouble  in  adjus- 
ting some  of  the  scenes  of  Torn  Sails,  A  Welsh 
Witch,  etc.,  to  the  surroundings  of  Llangranog 
and  the  coast  ranging  south  to  Traethsaith  past 
Penbryn  Church. 

Ascending  past  some  old  limekilns  on  the  north 
side  of  the  beach,  a  steep  cliff  path  leads  to  a  tidal 
gap  and  across  the  table  rocks  and  seaweedy  pools 
which  divide  Ynys  Lochtyn  from  the  line  of  the 
coast.  The  top  of  Ynys  Lochtyn  is  grassy,  a 
tempting  retreat ;  but  there  is  only  an  hour  or  two 
at  low  water  in  which  the  island  can  be  explored. 
One  or  two  fine  caves  on  the  east  side  have 
changed,  it  is  said,  within  the  last  twenty  years, 
owing  to  the  falling  of  the  rock ;  but  the  rock 
still  makes  stubborn  fight  against  the  sea  and  its 
inroads.  Lochtyn  is  not  a  place-name  of  Welsh 
origin,  but  akin  to  the  Irish  lough  and  Scottish 
loch.  The  "  men  of  Lochtyn,"  says  an  old  local 

23  " 


354  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

gossip,  "  are  the  Norsemen  ;  Llochtyn  with  the  II" 
but  is  he  not  thinking  of  the  "  men  of  Lochlyn  "  ? 

Dinas  Lochtyn,  whose  side  we  skirted  on  the  way 
to  the  island,  is  an  old  camp,  possibly  a  fastness 
used  by  pirates  on  this  coast  ?  A  climb  to  the  top 
of  it  will  show  how  good  a  sea-rover's  camp  and 
watch-out  point  it  was.  On  the  other  southern 
side  of  Llangranog,  and  near  the  field-path  to 
Llanborth,  are  some  vanishing  old  walls  on  the 
site,  easily  traced,  known  as  Castell  Bach;  and 
nearer  the  sea  a  trenched  and  embanked  camp, 
so  different  in  kind  both  to  the  Castell  and  the 
camp  Dinas  Lochtyn  that  it  suggests  well  the  slow 
succession  of  the  strongholds  of  far  different  races 
built  on  this  coast  in  ages  and  periods  widely 
apart. 

Every  other  resident  at  New  Quay  is  said  to  be 
a  retired  sea-captain  ;  hence  the  number  of  houses 
appears  to  provide  for  a  much  larger  crowd  than 
can  find  quarters.  There  is  a  sad  story  of  an  im- 
provident old  gentleman  in  a  white  top-hat  who 
had  to  sit  on  his  portmanteau  all  night  on  the  pier 
— every  available  bed  in  the  place  being  occupied. 
The  new  Cardigan  light  railway,  if  it  comes,  will 
make  a  great  difference  to  the  New  Quay  people. 
The  town  stands  well  posted  in  the  curve  of  New 
Quay  Bay,  three  successive  white  steps  of  terraces 
rising  between  the  pier  and  the  "  Head."  Past  their 
lower  end  runs  New  Quay  High  Street  on  its  way 
to  the  pier  and  harbour.  When  the  Bristol  steamer 
and  other  craft  come  in  the  scene  there  recalls  the 
good  days  of  this  miniature  sea-port  sixty  years 
ago.  At  the  pier- end  a  lighthouse  gives  the 
passing  vessels,  and  those  that  in  storm  try  to 
make  New  Quay  harbour  by  night,  a  better  chance 
than  in  the  days  when  the  cottage  candles  were 


THE  CARDIGAN  COAST  NORTHWARDS     355 

the  only  beacons.  Standing  on  Tower  Hill  you  get 
a  fair  view  of  the  curve  from  the  Head  on  to  Lla- 
nina.  The  sands  vary  in  places,  and  change  after 
heavy  tides,  exposing  new  patches  of  pebble  or 
shingle.  Whiting,  pollack,  codlings,  and  other 
sea-fish  abound  here.  A  good  morning's  fishing 
will  often  bring  in  more  than  the  hungriest  family 
can  eat ;  and  if  you  are  boating  you  can  row  out 
past  the  Head  and  round  Careg  Walltog  to  the 
Birds'  Rock,  which  later  summer  visitors  do  not 
see  at  its  best.  If  you  are  storm-bound  ashore,  you 
can  go  north  to  Llanllwchhaiarn  Church,  or  south 
to  Llanina  Church.  An  old  raid  of  the  "Black 
Pagans "  on  this  cove  accounts  possibly  for  the 
dedication  of  the  latter  church  to  Ina,  King  of  the 
West  Saxons.  But  some  say  the  church  was 
originally  Llan  liar.  The  small  building  is  not, 
however,  very  interesting.  But  to  wander  from 
Llanina  up  the  Gido  stream  to  Civm  Gido  and  the 
old  house  at  Wern,  half  an  hour's  walk  or  more, 
offers  a  welcome  exchange  for  the  glare  of  the 
sands  on  a  July  day.  Now  a  farmstead,  Wern  is 
a  house  of  character  and  tradition.  In  1485  the 
master  of  Wern  was  one  Einon  ap  Daffydd  Llwyd  ; 
and  when  Harry,  Earl  of  Richmond,  marched 
through  South  Wales  from  Milford,  he  is  said  to 
have  slept  at  this  house,  and  in  the  room  which  is 
to  be  seen,  with  the  very  bed  he  slept  in. 

Some  two  miles  and  a  half  S.S.W.  of  New  Quay 
and  you  reach  the  scattered  village  of  Llandysilio- 
go-go — which  is  well  worth  a  long  afternoon. 
The  name  comes  from  St.  Tysilio  and  (possibly) 
"gogofau  "= caves,  as  suggested  by  "Non"  (Miss 
Gwladys  Evans)  in  her  prize-essay  on  the  place- 
names  of  the  district.  It  is  one  of  the  few  remain- 
ing parishes  in  Wales,  she  says,  "  uncorrupted  by 


356  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

English  customs  and  speech  " ;  and  she  quotes  the 
late  Stephen  Evans,  J.P.,  who  said  that  if  Welsh 
should  ever  come  to  die,  it  would  last  be  heard  in 
"one  of  the  dingles  of  Llandysilio-go-go,"  when 
some  poor  old  woman  would  ejaculate  with  her 
dying  gasp — "  Ach  y  fi ! "  Of  the  two  or  three 
historical  houses  in  the  parish,  the  most  famous 
was  that  where  Henry  VII.  was  feasted  on  his 
march  northward  to  fight  for  the  crown  at  Bos- 
worth,  and  which  gives  a  name  to  "  Cwmtydur  " — 
Tydur's  cwm  or  dingle — Tydur,  after  Tudor,  it  is 
suggested.  The  remains  of  this  house  are  not  now 
to  be  seen.  It  stood  about  half  a  mile  from  Traeth 
Cwmtydur,  up  the  cwm.  The  little  stream  that 
passes  through  the  dingle  to  the  sea  is  "  the  Dewi," 
which  flows  down  from  Ffynnon-ddewi  (David's 
spring),  which  is  situate  some  five  miles  away, 
near  Wervilbrook,  and  to  be  found  between  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  milestones  on  the  right 
side  of  the  road  from  Cardigan  to  Aberaeron.  The 
story  is  that  St.  David  was  on  his  way  from  St. 
David's  or  Ty-ddewi  in  Pembrokeshire  to  Hen- 
fynyw  near  Aberaeron,  and  fell  athirst  at  this 
point,  and  there  asking  a  blessing  on  the  dry 
crust  he  took  from  his  wallet,  was  rewarded  by 
the  springing  forth  of  this  spring  at  his  feet. 

Aberaeron  still  wears  something  of  its  old 
sailor-like  air  when  the  boat  comes  in  from 
Bristol;  and  when  the  coach  arrives  from  Lam- 
peter  of  an  evening,  the  town  is  like  one  in  the 
other-world  of  Dickens.  Then  the  scene  on  the 
quay  or  in  the  street  is  heartening  to  witness 
to  those  who  feel  sentimental  about  the  old  order 
of  the  road.  The  town  occupies  what  was  once 
the  delta  of  the  Aeron,  when  the  river  had  two 
outlets.  The  Vale  of  Aeron,  whose  charms  have 


THE  CARDIGAN  COAST  NORTHWARDS     357 

been     often    sung,    well    and    ill,    brings    in    the 
highway  from  the  east  at  a  breakneck  descent. 

Once  travelling  across  from  Llanwrda,  G.  R.  and 
I  bicycled  to  Lampeter,  where  we  were  brought  up 
by  heavy  rain.  There  we  visited  the  College 
Library  (it  was  not  term-time  and  the  place 
seemed  deserted)  and  loitered  over  the  rare 
ballads  and  rarer  tomes.  Towards  seven  in 
the  evening  we  saw  our  rain-beaten  inn- windows 
suffused  with  a  sudden  pale  lemon-coloured  sunset 
light,  which  filled  the  line  of  sky  over  the  roofs 
and  chimneys  opposite.  The  rain  had  gone.  Tired 
of  being  cooped  up,  we  decided  there  and  then 
to  take  the  road  for  it,  and  press  on  with  all 
speed  to  Aberaeron.  A  last  flying  shower  caught 
us  on  the  bleak  hill  near  Rhyd-y-Gof  (Smith's 
Ford),  and  as  it  passed  it  seemed  to  drag  part  of 
the  daylight  away  with  it.  At  Llanfihangel  the 
evening  had  declared  itself,  and  a  cold  gusty 
wind  began  to  blow  against  us  from  the  sea. 
We  rode  fast,  however,  down  the  Yale  of  Aeron 
and  did  not  need  to  light  up  till  we  reached 
Llanerch.  Unluckily,  three  miles  further  on,  a 
rougher  gust  of  wind  blew  out  one  lamp,  and  on 
opening  the  other  at  a  convenient  lull,  a  second 
gust  blew  out  that  too.  Riding  on  without  lights, 
thereupon  we  found  ourselves  presently  benighted 
at  Hen  Geraint  in  the  darkest  stretch  of  road,  I 
believe,  that  is  in  Cardiganshire.  It  was  a  com- 
pletely strange  road  to  us  too,  and  as  it  seemed 
to  accelerate  its  gradient  we  did  not  dare  to  ride 
and  had  to  grope  our  way  nervously  at  a  snail's 
pace,  till  at  length  we  sighted  a  light — the  first 
lamps  of  Aberaeron.  It  was  one  of  those  adven- 
tures that  bring  back  the  sensation  of  the  un- 
known road  and  the  pitchy  night  that  counted 


358  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

for  much  in  the  old  road-faring  tales.  We  tried 
to  remember  Geraint's  plight,  but  now  to  quicken 
our  apprehension  there  came  the  smell  and  the 
sound  of  the  sea,  blown  up  through  the  darkness, 
which  conjured  up  Sir  Bors  instead.  One  night 
Bors  left  his  quarters  in  just  such  a  sea-vale  and 
"  at  a  broken  wall  rode  out "  and  reached  the  sea 
itself,  and  took  ship.  And  "  the  ship  departed 
into  the  sea,  and  went  so  fast  that  him-seemed 
the  ship  went  flying  ;  and  it  was  so  dark  that 
he  might  know  no  man."  But  we  did  not  really 
discover  the  sea  till  next  day.  When  at  last  we 
came  to  a  halt  fairly  in  the  midst  of  Aberaeron, 
with  a  few  lighted  windows  blinking  at  us,  we 
felt  like  people  who  had  stepped  into  reality  from 
a  dream.  We  found  the  place — inns  and  lodging- 
houses — crowded  with  holiday  visitors,  and  had 
extreme  trouble  in  getting  quarters  anywhere. 
We  had  to  be  content  then  with  a  very  small 
bedroom,  and  for  breakfast  next  morning  we 
had  bacon  so  rusty  that  it  seemed  to  infect  the 
whole  neighbourhood.  We  were  glad  to  change 
quarters  as  the  day  wore  on. 

We  were  surprised  next  day  to  find  so  urban 
a  savour  about  Alban  Square.  For  the  town, 
despite  its  old-fashioned  air,  can  only  claim  about 
a  century's  flourish.  Its  pier  was  built  in  1807, 
and  its  good  days  came  soon  after.  From  the 
perch  at  the  end  of  the  pier  you  can  see  a  wide 
circuit  of  distant  mountains  northward — Plinlim- 
mon,  Cader  Idris,  a  glimpse  of  Snowdon,  and  the 
curve  of  Cardigan  Bay.  You  can  take  boat  there 
for  a  brief  voyage  to  New  Quay  Head  and  the 
Bird  Rock,  or  a  change  of  transit  can  be  had 
by  taking  the  "  Aberaeron  express,"  which  has 
the  effect  of  a  rescue  by  line  and  cradle  from 


THE  CARDIGAN  COAST  NORTHWARDS     359 

a  wreck  without  the  terrors.  The  sensation  is 
more  complete  if  it  is  full  tide.  Over  the  harbour 
you  find  Trinity  Church,  a  new  one  comparatively, 
with  a  tall  tower.  The  old  parish  church  lies 
half  an  hour's  walk  away  at  Hen  Fynyw ;  for 
the  town  stands  in  two  parishes. 

Aberaeron  has  a  racing-track  (in  Alban  Square) 
where  wheelman  race  every  August,  and  a  chaly- 
beate spring.  The  well  is  free  to  all  comers,  and 
runs  no  risk  of  being  converted  into  a  fashionable 
spa.  Dr.  Burghardt,  of  Manchester,  in  an  epistle 
to  the  Aberaeronians,  says  of  this  water  : — 

"  The  Chalybeate  Spring  is  certainly  one  of  the 
best  in  the  kingdom,  it  is  a  carbonate  of  the 
protoxide  of  iron,  dissolved  in  a  very  pure  water. 
The  common  chalybeate  springs  are  sulphate  of 
the  protoxide  of  iron  dissolved  in  water  much 
charged  with  sulphates  of  calcium  and  magne- 
sium and  salt,  hence  the  iron  in  the  common 
chalybeate  springs  is  not  nearly  so  easily  assimi- 
lated by  the  system  as  the  iron  in  the  carbonate 
or  true  chalybeate  waters.  Chemically  speaking 
the  iron  in  the  sulphate  springs  is  not  so  easily 
torn  away  from  the  sulphuric  acid  with  which 
it  is  combined,  consequently  the  action  in  the 
human  system  is  much  slower,  and  less  efficient. 
With  carbonate  springs  this  is  not  the  case,  as 
carbonate  of  iron  is  one  of  the  most  easily  decom- 
posed iron  salts.  Your  Chalybeate  is  a  mild  one, 
which  I  think  makes  it  more  pleasant  for  most 
people." 

Talsarn  Mountain,  the  backbone  of  mid-Cardi- 
gan, and  its  eastern  outliers  above  Cwrtmawr  and 
Llangeitho  do  their  best  to  keep  the  Aeron  from 
finding  any  outlet  at  all.  For  some  miles  they 
seem  to  be  succeeding,  but  at  the  point  where 


360  THE  SOUTH   WALES  COAST 

the  Grwenffrwd  joins  the  Aeron,  its  course  is 
already  south-west,  and  in  five  or  six  miles  more 
it  has  reached  between  Talsarn  and  Llanlea,  its 
southern  limit,  and  turned  northward,  which 
course  it  maintains  with  such  deviation  as  hill- 
streams  have  to  the  sea. 

On  leaving  Aberaeron  to  explore  the  vale,  you 
follow  the  Lampeter  road,  over  the  upper  bridge, 
through  Hengeraint  Woods,  diverge  to  pass 
Llanerch-Aeron  Church  and  Llanaeron,  below 
which  a  rapid  stream  joins  the  Aeron.  Here  is 
one  of  the  pleasantest  loitering-places  in  the 
vale.  Tri-Crug- Aeron,  or  Trichrug,  another  triple- 
cairned  height,  is  the  southern  end  of  Talsarn 
Mountain,  that  rises  there  to  over  a  thousand 
feet.  Walking  from  the  top  of  Trichrug  east- 
wards, and  down  to  Talsarn,  a  Cardigan  poet 
once  wrote  a  song  some  lines  of  which  still  bear 
quoting : — 

Sweet  Aeron's  vale,  unknown  in  song, 

Demands  the  warbling  lyre  : 
Shall  silver  Aeron  glide  along, 

And  not  a  bard  inspire  ? 
What  bard  that  Aeron  sees  can  fail 
To  sing  the  charms  of  Aeron  vale  ? 

There  golden  treasures  swell  the  plains, 
And  herds  and  flocks  are  there  ; 

And  there  the  god  of  plenty  reigns 
Triumphant  all  the  year  ; 

The  nymphs  are  gay,  the  swains  are  hale : 

Such  blessings  dwell  in  Aeron's  vale." 

The  spectacle  seen  from  Trichrug  is  well  worth 
a  climb,  and  may  easily  be  had  by  taking  the 
cross-road  over  the  river  at  Newbridge,  or  Pont 
Newydd  up  to  Cilcennen.  This  road  passes  along 


PMo  by] 


,  Aberyslwyth. 


MONK'S  CAVE,  CARDIGAN  COAST. 


To  face  p.  360. 


THE  CARDIGAN  COAST  NORTHWARDS     361 

the  western  side  of  the  hill,  after  leaving  Ty 
Mawr,  and  half  an  hour's  climb  brings  one  to 
the  cairns  and  remains  of  old  burial-grounds. 

From  Newbridge,  about  four  miles  from  the 
starting-point,  you  have  another  league  to  go  to 
Ystrad,  where  the  church  is  worth  a  halt,  if  only 
to  see  the  square  pillars  that  divide  its  single 
aisle  and  the  tombs  to  the  Lisburnes  and  others. 
Mr.  J.  M.  Howell,  an  Aberaeron  authority,  reminds 
us  of  the  great  family  of  Dyffryn  Aeron,  the 
Lloyds  or  "  Llwydiaid,"  memories  of  whose  tenure 
for  hundreds  of  years  are  scattered  all  along  the 
vale.  Two  of  the  most  famous  mediaeval  Davids 
wrote  poems  to  their  descendants,  man  and  maid, 
leuan,  one  of  the  family,  was  himself  a  poet  in 
the  time  of  Owain  Glyndwr,  whose  praise  he  sang. 
It  was  his  father  who  built  Pare  Rhydderch  in 
the  thirteenth  century;  and  the  house  of  Pare 
Rhydderch,  as  it  now  exists,  is,  even  in  a  country 
of  old  houses,  "  marvellous  antiquate."  Thence 
comes  one  of  the  oldest  MSS.  of  the  Mabinogion, 
the  "  Llyfr  Pare  Rhydderch."  A  son  of  the  famous 
old  Sir  Rhys  ap  Thomas  married  a  daughter  of 
the  Lloyds,  and  the  Prices  of  Gogerddan  come 
of  the  same  stock.  But  ancient  houses  come  to 
an  end ;  and  the  last  heiress  of  the  race,  Miss 
Lloyd  of  Cilbwn  (a  seat  not  far  from  the  older 
seat  of  the  family  at  Cilpwll,  Pare  Rhydderch), 
was  murdered  by  her  serving-man  in  1792 — mean 
extinction  of  a  noble  tree  !  However,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  many  offshoots  still  do  exist  in  the  vale. 

Llangeitho  lies  about  one  mile  north-east  of 
Cilpwll,  which  is  at  the  lower  end  of  the  wooded 
glen  of  Gwenffrwd,  where  traces  of  the  mediaeval 
forest-lands  seem  to  linger. 

The  more  direct   road  from   LJanlear  to   Llan- 


362  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

geitho  is  that  via  Talsarn,  when  Cilpwll  hamlet 
and  the  house  of  Pare  Rhydderch  are  both  passed 
in  turn.  Pare  Rhydderch  is  one  of  those  old 
houses  in  which  the  soul  of  a  neighbourhood  is 
laid  away.  With  Llangeitho  is  associated  one 
of  the  most  fervent  lights  the  Welsh  Church  ever 
lit — so  fervent,  indeed,  that  the  authorities  grew 
afraid  of  it,  and  tried  to  put  it  out !  The  light 
was  Daniel  Rowlands,  Curate  of  Llangeitho  for 
some  years ;  his  bishop,  deeming  him  a  firebrand, 
bade  him  desist,  so  Rowlands  lost  a  parish  and 
gained  a  country.  His  statue  stands  by  the 
chapel ;  his  grave  is  in  the  churchyard,  but 
where  110  one  seems  to  know.  Another  fifty 
years,  and  the  Church  of  Wales  will  make  late 
amends  perhaps  to  her  too  inspired  curate. 
Neither  the  parish  church  nor  the  great  chapel 
of  the  village  to-day  are  those  in  which  Rowlands 
officiated ;  but  both  occupy  the  old  sites.  The 
fine  plate  in  Meyrick's  Cardiganshire,  showing 
the  curious  carved  oak-screen,  leaves  one  with 
some  natural  regret  for  the  old  church.  Row- 
lands' statue,  though  crudely  designed  and  disap- 
pointing, is  said  to  be  a  good  likeness.  He  died 
in  1790.  It  is  worth  note  that  for  some  time 
before  his  deprivation  by  the  bishop,  Rowlands 
served  Nant  Cwnlle,  Llangeitho,  and  Llanddewi 
Brefi  Churches — i.e.,  all  three  were  in  his  charge 
as  sole  incumbent — for  a  salary  of  £10  a  year. 
In  spite  of  all,  Rowlands  continued  his  attachment 
to  the  church,  and  if  he  had  had  his  will  would 
never  have  separated  from  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ABERYSTWYTH — THE  THREE  TOWNS — AN  ATLAN- 
TIC STORM  —  THE  COLLEGE  —  THE  NATIONAL 
LIBRARY — IEUAN  THE  TALL — DEVIL'S  BRIDGE 

THERE  are  really  three  Aberystwyths,  not  one :  the 
old  Cardiganshire  borough  and  market  town,  the 
thronged  watering-place  of  July,  August  and 
September,  and  the  'Varsity  town  of  the  other 
months.  To  most  people  it  is  the  second  of  the 
three  that  counts ;  recalling,  when  they  think  of 
it,  the  sun-heated  broad  curve  of  esplanade,  saved 
by  the  most  delicious  sea-breeze  ever  cooled  over 
salt-water.  And  the  sea  outlook  across  Cardigan 
Bay  and] the  old  site  of  the  drowned  "Hundred," 
towards  Snowdon,  the  Eifl  peaks,  or  Cyrn  Du,  is 
like  a  vision  of  Cymru  Fynyddig,  the  true  moun- 
tainous Wales,  while  the  air,  sea-borne  or  mountain- 
borne,  is  of  a  kindred  savour. 

One  February,  after  an  influenza,  a  wise  doctor 
ordered  us  to  Aberystwyth.  We  were  hardly  able 
to  walk  when  we  arrived,  and  my  fellow-traveller's 
face  from  illness,  weariness,  and  train-enwm  was 
forlorn  as  Mariana's.  What  ill  fate  had  sent  us 
from  home,  we  wondered,  to  languish  and  contract 
pneumonia  in  a  seaside  lodging,  where  the  damp 
walls  would  surely  have  salt-sand  in  the  mortar? 


364  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

But  bright  sea-coal  fires  (to  call  them  so  because 
the  name  has  a  savour)  when  we  arrived,  and 
bright  suns  for  three  days,  changed  our  tempera- 
ture. On  the  third  day  we  climbed  a  hill ;  on  the 
fourth  a  telegram  came  asking  for  a  promised 
article  on  an  old  play,  and  it  was  written  and 
posted  on  the  sixth.  On  the  seventh  we  went  (in  a 
snowstorm  and  bitter  weather)  to  Strata  Florida  ; 
and  on  the  eighth  returned  home  in  obstreperous 
health.  If  there  seems  an  element  of  extravagance 
in  this,  it  is  entirely  due  to  the  Aberystwyth  air. 

The  winter  pleasures  of  the  town  are  those  that 
somehow  or  other  come  first  to  mind  in  the  retro- 
spect. The  kind  of  salt-water  you  may  have  to 
taste  can  be  gathered  from  the  accompanying 
print  of  the  Esplanade  during  the  superb  storm 
of  December,  1910  :  the  finest,  by  all  accounts,  and 
the  most  destructive,  known  on  this  exposure  of 
the  coast  within  living  memory  ;  threatening 
enough  almost  to  recall  the  deluge  that  sent 
Cantref-y-Gwaelod,  the  Bottom  Hundred,  under 
the  sea.  The  storm  began  with  a  stiff  SSW. 
breeze,  which  grew  into  a  seventy-mile  an  hour 
gale.  With  this,  and  a  poor  ebb  before  it,  the  tide 
was  at  its  usual  height  three  hours  before  time. 
A  little  later,  and  it  had  begun  to  handle  the  great 
concrete  blocks  of  the  pavement  and  the  coping  of 
the  sea-wall  like  so  much  brickwork.  These  huge 
missiles  were  thrown  across  the  road  and  against 
the  railings  of  the  houses,  as  in  some  oceanic 
ecstasy  and  mad  bombardment.  Basement 
windows  were  smashed,  areas  filled  with  gravel, 
and  doors  battered  in.  The  shingle  lay  in  some 
places  two  and  three  feet  deep  afterwards  on  the 
Promenade. 

"  The  Hostel  and  the  houses  adjoining  bore  the 


ABERYSTWYTH  365 

brunt  of  the  storm  and  suffered  most  damage. 
Immense  waves  struck  the  sea-wall  a  little  below 
Victoria  House  School  and  ran  along  the  face  to  a 
point  where  the  wall  makes  a  bend  slightly  north- 
ward, when  the  waves  were  thrown  up  to  an 
immense  height  and  tons  of  water  fell  on  to  the 
pavement  on  the  sea  side  and  rushed  in  rolling 
waves  to  the  houses  opposite,  battering  down  the 
railings,  smashing  in  doors  and  windows,  and 
entering  the  basements.  Sometimes  a  long  line  of 
water,  hundreds  of  feet  long,  rose  in  the  air  after 
impact  with  the  sea-wall.  At  other  times  an 
isolated  mass  of  water  rose  and  was  broken  up  by 
the  wind  in  blinding  spray  which  completely  hid 
the  Hostel  and  adjoining  houses  from  view.  Be- 
tween eight  and  nine  o'clock,  when  the  tide  was  at 
its  height,  a  tremendous  sea  struck  the  high  electric 
lamps  and  three  were  knocked  out,  leaving  the  end 
of  the  Terrace  in  darkness.  The  lamp  near  the 
Queen's  Hotel  was  also  extinguished  ;  but  the  one 
opposite  the  '  Plynlymon '  weathered  the  storm  and 
gave  a  brilliant  light  until  the  current  was  turned 
off  at  midnight." 

One  envies  those  inhabitants  who  were  not 
actually  enswamped  the  chance  of  seeing  this  rare 
spectacle. 

The  sea  made  a  bold  attempt  to  take  a  degree  in 
the  College  too,  which  is  already  a  building  with  an 
eventful  history.  It  has  had  losses  ;  been  burnt 
with  fire  and  gutted ;  been  made  into  a  monster 
hotel  at  huge  cost ;  then  sold  for  a  mere  song  to 
become  a  beacon  of  the  Welsh  Renaissance. 

"The  Cambrian  Tourist  and  Post-chaise  Com- 
panion" (5th  ed.,  1821)  speaks  of  the  original 
structure  as  "  a  fantastic  house  in  the  Castellated 
form  "  consisting  of  "  three  octagon  towers  with  a 


366  THE   SOUTH   WALES   COAST 

balcony  towards  the  sea."  The  writer  adds  that 
the  fragments  of  the  Castle  are  from  hence  viewed 
to  great  advantage :  a  statement  which  helps  to 
suggest  that  in  the  new  transmutation  of  Wales 
the  citadel  has  been  changed  from  a  material  to  an 
intellectual  fortress. 

Long  ago  Owen  Glyndwr  had  among  his  recon- 
structive schemes  that  of  a  university  :  companion 
idea  to  that  of  a  Welsh  Parliament  which  we  shall 
yet,  I  daresay,  see  realised  too  ?  What  would  he 
have  said  if,  when  he  was  investing  Aberystwyth 
Castle,  he  had  foreseen  how  as  its  walls  crumbled 
the  other  Castell  Ddysg  whose  vision  he  had 
nursed  was  to  wax  and  become  a  thing  accom- 
plished and  a  Welsh  landmark? 

It  has  fostered  many  men  who  have  achieved — 
Celtic  scholars,  lyric  poets,  and  patriots  like  the 
late  T.  E.  Ellis,  M.P. 

The  latest  Castle  of  Aberystwyth  is  the  National 
Library,  whose  site  stands  fair  on  the  hill  above 
the  town.  Years  ago,  I  remember  being  sadly 
troubled  to  get  Elizabethan  books  at  short  notice 
for  an  unexpected  piece  of  work.  If  Professor 
C.  H.  Herford  had  not  happened  to  be  living  there, 
and  if  he  had  not  hospitably  let  me  ransack  his 
shelves,  I  should  have  had  to  go  back  to  London. 
Now  the  bookman  will  have  his  citadel.  For 
its  provenance  one  6f  the  greatest  bookhunters 
Wales  has  had,  Sir  John  Williams  the  physician, 
has  been  collecting  manuscripts,  folios,  rarities, 
especially  Celtic  ones,  and  spending  a  fortune  in 
the  search.  And  others  have  worked  as  tirelessly 
in  their  own  fields,  men  like  Mr.  J.  H.  Davies  of 
Cwrtmawr,  born  bookhunters,  if  such  a  thing  is 
conceivable.  If  Sir  John  and  his  fellow-con- 
spirators have  for  half  a  century  been  collecting 


ABERYSTWYTH  367 

and  buying  books  and  libraries,  it  is  in  order  to 
endow  this  National  Library  as  it  deserves.  Before 
the  end  Aberystwyth  will  have  one  of  the  richest 
libraries  of  Cymric  and  Celtic  books  and  MSS.  in 
the  world.  This  year — 1911— will  see  the  foun- 
dation-stone laid.  Research  in  such  a  library 
should,  because  of  the  ozone  forced  by  the  west 
wind  through  the  windows  and  between  the 
shelves,  be  accomplished  with  twice  the  ordinary 
dispatch. 

Among  the  treasures  here  are  the  Hengwrt  and 
Peniarth  MSS.  collected  by  Robert  Vaughan,  of 
Hengwrt  (who  died  in  1666),  the  friend  of  John 
Selden  and  Archbishop  Usher.  Finally  they  passed 
to  Mr.  W.  R.  M.  Wynne,  of  Peniarth,  who,  being 
without  a  direct  heir,  sold  them  to  Sir  John 
Williams  on  condition  that  they  should  go  in  the 
end  to  the  National  Library,  if  established  at 
Aberystwyth.  Mr.  Wynne  died  in  January,  1909, 
and  so  the  MSS.  have  become  its  property.  They 
include  the  oldest  manuscripts  of  the  old  Welsh 
Laws,  the  oldest  of  the  Mabinogion,  the  oldest 
of  the  Holy  Grail  romance,  and  a  vast  number  of 
mediaeval  poems.  "The  Black  Book  of  Carmar- 
then," however,  is  the  prime  of  this  splendid 
antiquity.  Its  vellum  leaves  contain  the  earliest 
script  we  have  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries  ;  and  they  open  with  the  duologue  be- 
tween Merlin  and  Taliesin  on  the  battle  of 
Arderydd. 

Dr.  Gwenogvryn  Evans,  who  has  tabled  and 
catalogued  these  priceless  things,  and  who  knows 
more  about  Welsh  MSS.  than  any  man  living,  says 
it  is  not  merely  the  largest,  but  the  finest,  library 
of  the  kind  that  exists  or  can  exist,  "  thanks  to  the 
prescience  and  skill "  of  Robert  Vaughan  "  in 


368  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

bringing  together  the  noblest  monuments  of 
Kymric  history  and  literature."  Vaughan  is  only 
one  of  many  who  have  worked  in  silence  to  pre- 
pare for  the  building  up  at  length  of  this  Celtic 
library. 

The  librarian,  Mr.  John  Ballinger,  shows  too  in 
his  account  what  the  contemporary  vigilance  of 
such  a  library  has  to  be,  if  it  is  to  fulfil  its  office 
of  the  perfect  record  of  a  nation  and  its  people. 
Newspapers,  broadsides,  Eisteddfod-ana,  local  pam- 
phlets, religious  documents,  and  all  kinds  of 
ephemerides  have  to  be  gathered  up  and  put  into 
organic  shape  and  sequence.  Everything  that  is  a 
record  has  to  be  kept.  "  Local  ballads,  for  instance, 
often  deal  with  events  of  which  there  is  no  other 
record.  One  such  case  occurred  recently.  A  sheep- 
dog on  the  Plynlymon  range  took  to  sheep- 
killing,  and  wrought  great  havoc,  but  defied  all 
efforts  to  track  and  destroy  it.  Ultimately  Sir 
Edward  Webley-Parry-Pryse,  of  Gogerddan,  took 
out  his  hounds  and  ran  it  down,  and  it  was  killed, 
to  the  great  relief  of  the  farmers.  A  local  poet 
narrated  the  event  in  rhyme,  which  was  printed  on 
a  broadside.  The  circulation  was  entirely  local. 
Yet  there  is  an  element  of  romance  in  the  story 
sufficient  to  furnish  forth  a  modern  novel."  All 
these  fugitive  pieces  have  to  be  captured  on  the 
wing  and  put  into  safe-keeping  here.  A  collection 
that  ranges  from  one  of  the  finest  Chaucer  MSS. 
to  the  latest  ballad  is  like  to  become  a  goal  of 
studious  and  librarious  pilgrims  from  all  the 
world  over  as  time  goes  on. 

"  One  division  in  the  National  Library  is  called 
the  Department  of  Documents,  a  section  in  which 
it  is  hoped  to  make  a  collection  of  things  mainly 
for  future  use.  By  way  of  illustration  of  what  is 


ABERYSTWYTH  369 

intended,  the  Thomason  Collection  of  Civil  War 
Tracts  may  be  cited.  These  ephemeral  publi- 
cations of  a  troubled  time  are  individually  of 
restricted  interest,  but  arranged  chronologically 
as  they  are  in  the  valuable  catalogue  issued  a 
couple  of  years  ago  by  the  British  Museum,  they 
form  a  record,  as  Carlyle  said,  '  Worth  all  the 
sheepskins.'  If  carefully  collected  over  a  long 
series  of  years,  and  arranged  under  subjects,  or 
topographically,  whichever  may  be  best  for  each 
item,  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  to-day  will  be  the 
gold-dust  of  the  future."  * 

One  thinks  of  the  unlucky  scholar-vagabond, 
leuan  Brydydd  Hir — Evan  the  Long  (or  Tall)  Poet — 
in  watching  the  rise  'of  this  great  library  endowed 
with  some  of  the  very  MSS.  he  spent  his  days  in 
getting.  He  was  a  Cardiganshire  man ;  author  of 
that  early  anthology, «"  Specimens  of  the  Ancient 
Welsh  Poetry"  (1764),  which  helped  to  give  the 
poet  Gray  ideas  for  his  Welsh  subjects.  Born 
under  a  troubled  star,  Evan  the  Long  was  fortu- 
nate in  going  to  school  at  Ystrad  Meurig  under  a 
master  like  Edward  Richard,  a  true  pastoral  poet 
by  grace  and  nature.  He  showed  on  leaving  school 
what  a  disinterested  soul  was  his  by  making  over 
his  Cardigan  patrimony  to  a  younger  brother,  in 
order  to  go  to  Oxford.  There  he  found  other  lore 
than  there  is  in  books,  and  learnt  the  easier  grace 
of  wine.  He  left  without  a  degree;  and  then  he 
became  a  vagrom  curate,  of  doubtful  habits,  never 
holding  any  charge  long,  and  continually  collecting 
and  continually  losing  books.  We  might  have 
surprised  him  any  day  on  the  road  in  Cardigan- 

*  "The  National  Library  of  Wales"  (by  Mr.  John  Bal- 
linger),  Journal  of  the  Welsh  Bibliographical  Society, 
February,  1911. 

24 


370  THE  SOUTH  WALES   COAST 

shire  carrying  a  bundle  of  them  wrapt  in  a  check 
handkerchief. 

He  spent  some  time  at  Aberystwyth ;  and  even 
when  he  was  not  there  himself  kept  a  room  going 
in  which  to  house  his  precious  books  and  MSS. 
In  a  letter  to  a  correspondent,  unnamed,  he 
writes : — 

"  I  have  a  large  collection  of  books  at  A  her 
Ystwyth,  and  a  room  for  which  I  pay  three  pounds 
a  year.  My  collection  of  MSS.  likewise  is  there, 
and  I  am  afraid  must  be  in  a  great  measure  spoiled 
by  dampness  and  want  of  fire  in  the  room." 

He  also  speaks  of  having  spent  two  guineas  in 
advertising  for  pupils  in  order  to  start  a  school  in 
the  town,  and  makes  it  plain  that  his  "  present 
distressful  situation  "  of  a  curate  without  a  cure 
was  in  danger  of  growing  chronic. 

One  verse  of  his  might  almost  be  written  up  in 
the  entrance  hall  of  the  National  Library.  In 
Welsh  it  runs — 

"O  bydd  lion  hinon  dydd  ha', — neu  wybren 

Yn  obrudd  y  gaua', 
Y  cyfaill  goreu,  cofia, 
A  lleufer  dyn,  yw  llyfr  da," 

which  might  be  reset  in  English  after  this  manner, 
roughly  to  preserve  the  "  Englyn  "  : — 

"  O  if  the  summer  day  be  fair, — or  the  bleak 

Wind  of  winter  blind  the  air, — 
Of  all  friends  for  a  man,  far  or  near, 
A  good  book  is  the  best,  sans  compare." 

Poor,  high-fortuned  leuan !  As  you  walk  up  the 
street  to  the  market,  when  the  last  tourist  has 


ABERYSTWYTH  ,      371 

gone  from  the  town,  you  shall  see  him  turn  the 
corner,  three  rusty  quartos  under  his  arm. 

Another  figure  to  be  conjured  up  here  is  the 
author  of  "  Twin  Shon  Catti,"  who  wrote  also  "  The 
Land  beneath  the  Sea" — Cantref-y-Gwaelod — and 
"  The  New  Aberystwyth  Guide  "  of  1824,  published 
by  Lewis  Jones  in  the  town.  The  charm  of  this 
"  New  Guide  "  lies  in  its  power  to  conjure  up  the 
old  days  before  the  railway  came.  J.  Llewelyn 
Prichard,  the  author,  has  had  his  account  in  the 
Swansea  chapter,*  but  in  his  role  of  guide  he 
reminds  us  of  the  Devil's  Bridge  and  of  the  way 
there,  and  of  "  The  Grand  and  Tremendous  Fall  of 
the  Rheidol"  (in  Black  Letter  impressiveness)  as 
they  were  in  the  days  of  the  open  road.  The  Devil 
still  roars  under  the  two  bridges  as  of  old,  but  he 
is  in  a  cage  now,  and  you  pay  sixpence  to  look 
at  him.  Instead  of  walking  there,  too,  you  can  go 
by  the  new  Devil's  Bridge  line,  which  is  as  adven- 
turous as  any  in  South  Wales.  The  present 
itinerant  had  the  pleasure  of  riding  over  it  before 
it  was  opened  and  while  it  was  still  in  the  rough  ; 
and  the  train  seemed  to  climb  hills  and  impend 
over  waterfalls  and  pull  up  in  farmyards,  with 
delightful  indifference  to  all  the  laws  of  gravity 
and  traction.  A  fine  wild  region  is  that  it  brings 
you  to,  with  Havod  where  Thomas  Johnes  set  up 
his  mansion  and  his  press  and  printed  his  Froissart 
and  other  great  books,  and  Ystrad  Flur  or  Strata 
Florida — where  some  say  Dafydd  ab  Gwilym  is 
buried — and  Pont  Erwyd,  Llyn  Iwan,  Llyn  Rheidol 
and  Plynlymon — all  within  reach  if  you  are  a  good 
walker.  Much  nearer  home,  you  pass  Nanteos, 
where  lived  Swinburne's  friend,  George  E.  J. 
Powell,  co-author  with  Arnason  of  the  "  Icelandic 
*  Pp.  161-175. 


372  THE   SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

Legends,"  1864.  One  only  wishes  he  had  turned 
his  fancy  to  Welsh  things  too,  for  he  had  a  rare 
gift  of  narrative  and  more  than  a  translator's  share 
of  originality.* 

*  See  article,   "A  Tribute  to  Swinburne,"  in  the   Nine- 
teenth Centtvry,  June,  1909. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

LLANBADARN — CANTREF-Y-GWAELOD — THE   SECOND 
DELUGE — BORTH — THE  END  OF  THE  JOURNEY 

IN  some  of  the  older  Cardiganshire  records 
Aberystwyth,  the  town  as  well  as  the  Castle, 
appears  as  Llanbadarn  Fawr,  in  whose  parish  it 
stands.  Leland  speaks  of  it  in  one  page  of  his 
Welsh  Itinerary  as  "  Abreostuthe."  His  entry  reads 
as  if  he  had  tried  to  transcribe  in  part  the  actual 
words  that  some  Cardigan  farmer  he  had  met  had 
used  in  speaking  of  it.  The  town,  he  notes,  "  hath 
bene  waullyd,  and  hathe  great  privilegis,  and  is 
bettar  market  than  Cardigan." 

There,  at  Llanbadarn,  stands  a  noble  church, 
heavy- wall'd,  deep-arch'd,  built  to  outlast  time ; 
a  place  where  the  shadow  shot  with  light  of  the 
greatest  poet  of  Wales  ought  to  be  surprised  if 
anywhere ;  where  the  memory  of  Dafydd  ab 
Gwilym  certainly  is  held  close  beneath  the  sombre 
arches.  There  is  one  of  his  odes,  or  "  cywyddau,"  in 
particular  that  starts  his  Llanbadarn  memory.  It 
is  the  harp-ode  in  which  he  begs  the  tide  not  to 
prevent  his  getting  over  the  river  Dovey  ("na 
luddia  ei  hynt  tros  Ddyfi  i  ymweled  a  Morf udd  ") 
to  see  Morvyth — hasting  to  go — 

"  I  dew  Iwynbedw  i  Lanbadarn  " 

(In  the  thick  birch-covert  to  Llanbadarn). 
373 


374  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

In  another  he  speaks  of  her  pilgrimage  across 
many  abers  and  rivers  to  receive  absolution  at 
St.  David's  for  having  slain  him  by  her  cruelty : — 

' '  Deep  the  waves  of  Dovey  are, 
And  mountain  high,  to  hinder  her  : 
Rheidol  too,  for  Morvyth's  feet, 
Peace  !  make  strait  the  wat'ry  street ; 
And  Ystwyth,  leave  thy  spumy  rage 
And  grant  with  heaving  breasts  a  stage 
To  her  that  steps  on  pilgrimage." 

"A  dwfn  yw  tonnau  Dyfl 
Dwfr  rhyn  yn  ei  her  by  n  hi  ; 
Rheidol,  gad,  er  d'anrhydedd 
Heol  i  fun  hael  o  fedd  ; 
Ystwyth,  ym  mhwyth,  gad  im  hon 
Drais  dew-ddyfr,  dros  dy  ddwyfron." 

The  coast  journey  that  Dafydd  had  then  to 
make,  on  his  way  from  Anglesey  and  round  to 
Llanbadarn,  and  on  to  Glamorgan,  was,  because 
of  the  rivers  he  had  to  cross,  a  pretty  devious  one. 
He  had  plenty  of  time,  as  he  waited  for  a  ferry  at 
Aberdovey,  or  for  the  tide  to  ebb  on  the  Rheidol, 
to  string  some  of  those  melodiously  linked,  fluid 
couplets  which  are  among  the  wonders  of  the  art 
of  rhymed  verse. 

Before  leaving  Llanbadarn  you  can,  if  you  have 
the  art,  call  up  a  far  older  church  than  that  you  see 
there  now,  and  with  it  the  form  of  an  older  Genius 
of  Place  than  our  other  David  of  the  Odes — St. 
Padarn,  or  Paternus.  Gerald  just  speaks  of  him 
in  the  Baldwin  Itinerary  ;  and  helps  us  to  use  him 
as  another  link  that  connects  the  old  tribal  clerics 
with  the  Arthurian  tales.  Padarn  went  to  Ireland, 
and  brought  back  possibly  some  Irish  ideas  with 
him.  His  cousin  Samson  had  Arthur's  faculty  of 


. ,. 


LLANBADARN  TO  BORTH  375 

making  stones  fly  like  thistledown,  if  the  story  told 
of  the  Celtic  Crosses  in  the  churchyard  is  true. 
Samson  was  threshing  with  them  on  Pen-y-Dinas, 
when  the  head  flew  off  one ;  flew  indeed  so  far 
that  it  dropt  right  into  the.  churchyard  here. 
Whereupon  Samson,  with  a  very  explicit  Arthurian 
oath,  threw  the  shaft  after  it.  The  stones  are 
there  now :  "  they  may  be  seen,"  which  proves  how 
dependable  tradition  is.  Moreover,  one  of  them  at 
least  bears  the  name  of  an  Irish  chief;  and  as 
Padarn  had  been  to  Ireland  in  quest  of  his  father, 
the  reality  of  the  story  is  established.  That  fantasy 
came  after  is  but  natural ;  it  does  not  destroy  the 
matter  of  fact. 

Gerald's  account  of  the  Breton  knight  who  went 
to  Llanbadarn,  and  of  the  cleric  with  the  spear  he 
saw  there,  is  too  striking  to  be  left  out  of  the 
reckoning.  Even  so,  he  ends  with  a  naive  admis- 
sion that  he  knows  more  than  he  thinks  it  politic 
to  tell:— 

"It  happened  that  in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen,  who 
succeeded  Henry  I.,  a  knight,  born  in  Arinorica,  having 
travelled  through  many  parts  of  the  world  to  see  different 
cities  and  the  manners  of  the  inhabitants,  came  by  chance 
to  Lhanpadarn.  On  a  certain  feast-day,  whilst  both  the 
clergy  and  people  were  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  abbot 
to  celebrate  Mass,  he  perceived  a  body  of  young  men,  armed, 
according  to  the  custom  of  their  country,  approaching 
towards  the  church  ;  and  on  inquiring  which  of  them  was 
the  abbot,  they  pointed  out  to  him  a  man  walking  foremost, 
with  a  long  spear  in  his  hand. 

"Gazing  on  him  with  amazement,  he  asked,  ' If  the  abbot 
had  not  another  habit,  or  a  different  staff,  from  that  which 
he  now  carried  before  him?' 

"On  their  answering  '  No  1 '  he  replied,  'I  have  seen 
indeed  and  heard  this  day  a  wonderful  novelty  1 '  and  from 
that  hour  he  returned  home,  and  finished  his  labours  and 
researches. 


376  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

"This  wicked  people  boasts,  that  a  certain  bishop*  of 
their  church  (for  it  formerly  was  a  cathedral)  was  murdered 
by  their  predecessors ;  and  on  this  account,  chiefly,  they 
ground  their  claims  of  right  and  possession.  No  public 
complaint  having  been  made  against  their  conduct,  we  have 
thought  it  more  prudent  to  pass  over,  for  the  present,  the 
enormities  of  this  wicked  race  with  dissimulation,  than 
exasperate  them  by  a  further  relation." 

At  Llanbadarn  lies  buried  one  of  the  most 
original  men  Wales  has  produced — Lewis  Morris 
o  Fon,  poet,  inimitable  letter  -  writer,  mining 
engineer,  botanist,  philologist,  marine  surveyor, 
and  many  things  besides.  The  collection  of  the 
Letters  of  Lewis  Morris  and  his  brothers,  issued 
in  a  subscribers'  edition  by  Mr.  J.  H.  Davies,  is  full 
of  colour,  Welsh  rnother-wit,  and  shrewd  and 
caustic  comment  on  the  Wales  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

Going  northwards,  there  is  still  a  long  string  of 
explorable  places  to  be  added  to  the  Aberystwyth 
count.  By  taking  train  to  Glandovey  you  are  in 
reach  of  the  Llyfnant  Valley,  and  Cwm  Einion 
(called  by  guide-books  "  the  Artists'  Valley,"  which 
has  more  character  than  that  fond  name  seems  to 
declare).  We  once  took  up  quarters  at  Cwm  Farm, 
and  learnt  by  heart  another  valley  which  shall  be 
nameless  here — 

"...  Lest  inquisitive  tourist 

Hunt  it,  and  make  it  a  lion,    and  get  it  at  last  into  guide- 
books." 

From  that  centre  we  explored  the  Borth  district, 

*  The  name  of  this  bishop  is  said  to  have  been  Idnerth 
— the  same  personage  whose  death  is  commemorated  in  an 
inscription  at  Llanddewi  Brefi. 


LLANBADARN  TO  BORTH  377 

went  to  Bedd  Taliesin,  and  counted  the  blue  space 
about  it,  worth  many  a  league's  travel ;  but  found 
nothing,  high  or  low,  more  affecting  than  the 
unconquered  bog  of  Cors  Fochno  and  the  sand- 
levels  of  Traeth  Maelgwn. 

The  folk-lore  and  traditions  of  this  district  would 
need  a  Jacob  Grimm  for  their  account.  With 
regard  to  Taliesin,  you  cannot  do  better  than 
look  up  his  story  as  added  (in  a  corrupted  ver- 
sion) to  the  Mabinogion  proper.  A  note  reminds 
us  that  the  Cistvaen  at  Bedd  Taliesin  was  opened 
in  1848  by  the  Cambrian  Archaeologues,  but  nothing 
was  found  in  it  save  darker  earth.  As  for  Cors 
Fochno,  it  has  a  Toad  of  untold  age,  by  whose 
side  the  Salmon  of  Llyn  Llyw  was  a  mere  babe 
in  antiquity.  On  Traeth  Maelgwn,  tradition  says, 
the  over-lordship  of  Wales  used  to  be  decided. 
A  sign  was  required  to  decide  the  supreme  regality 
of  the  lord-elect  on  Traeth  Maelgwn,  and  the 
test  was  the  old  one  of  the  wave-controller. 
Maelgwn  succeeded  in  floating  on  a  chair  with 
waxen  wings  and  keeping  his  place  when  the 
tide  flowed,  while  the  other  claimants  to  the  title 
of  Superman  gave  way  and  fled.  Those  who  have 
watched  the  force  of  the  tide,  even  as  squandered 
in  that  wide  estuary  of  the  Dovey  when  it  flows 
up,  a  mile  wide,  fast  and  irresistible,  will  know 
what  to  think  of  Maelgwn's  magic.  There  is  a 
story,  not  over  well  authenticated,  of  a  dispute 
between  Taliesin  and  Maelgwn  which  ought  to 
be  true,  since  it  shows  the  poet  and  king  at  war 
and  the  poet  victorious.  In  this  account  Maelgwn 
takes  Taliesin's  land  from  him,  and  he  curses  the 
king.  It  is  because  of  the  curse  that  the  "Vad 
Velen,"  or  Yellow  Plague,  overtakes  Maelgwn  at 
last.  He  hides  from  it  in  the  church  in  Rhos, 


378  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

but  spies  through  the  keyhole  and  sees  the  Evil 
Thing  in  visible  presence  and  in  a  form  not  unlike 
that  of  a  speckled  Toad,  and  so  dies.  In  those  days 
the  curses  of  the  bards  were  often  mortal. 

But  Taliesin  was  daemonic  in  all  his  properties. 
His  mysterious  advent  on  this  coast  is  the  epic 
result  of  a  cataclysm  of  nature,  which  is  described 
in  the  old  story  of  the  Drowning  of  the  Bottom 
Hundred — or  Cantref-y-Gwaelod — monarch  of  all 
tales  of  the  all-conquering  sea  and  the  conquered 
land.  Gwyddno  Garanhir  was  king  of  the  drowned 
region,  and  one  feast-night  Seithenen  (called  ever 
afterwards)  the  Drunkard,  his  sea-ward,  was  in 
his  cups  and  did  not  watch  the  sea.  The  flood 
broke  in  and  drowned  the  Cantref  and  sixteen 
great  fortified  cities,  the  finest  in  all  Wales, 
with  it. 

Cardigan  Bay  occupies  the  spot  where  the  fertile 
plains  of  the  Cantref  had  been  the  habitation  and 
support  of  a  flourishing  population.  Such  as 
escaped  the  inundation  fled  to  Ardudwy,  and  the 
country  of  Arvon,  and  the  mountains  of  Eryri 
(Snowdon),  and  other  places  not  previously  in- 
habited. "  By  none  was  this  misfortune  more 
severely  felt  than  by  Gwyddno  Garanhir,  to 
whom  the  reverse  of  circumstances  it  occasioned 
was  so  great  that,  from  being  an  opulent  monarch, 
he  was  all  at  once  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
maintaining  himself  and  his  only  son,  the  un- 
fortunate Elphin,  by  the  produce  of  the  fishing 
weir  mentioned  in  the  text. 

"This  disastrous  event  is  commemorated  in  a 
proverb  still  repeated  in  the  Principality : — 

"'The  sigh  of  Gwyddno  Garanhir 

When  the  wave  rolled  over  his  land.' 


LLANBADARN  TO   BORTH  379 

"  There  is  also  preserved  in  the  Myvyrian  Archai- 
ology  (I.  165)  a  short  poem  upon  the  subject 
attributed  to  Gwyddno  Garanhir,  in  which  there 
are  some  exceedingly  poetic  and  striking  passages. 
The  bereft  monarch  calls  upon  the  author  of  his 
distress  to  view  the  calamitous  effects  of  his  in- 
temperance, pronounces  maledictions  upon  his 
head,  and  describes  the  outcry  of  the  perishing 
inhabitants  of  that  unhappy  region." 

' '  Stand  forth  Seithenin  and  behold  the  dwelling  of  heroes 
— the  plain  of  Gwyddno  the  ocean  covers !  * 

Accursed  be  the  sea  guard,  who  after  his  carousal  let 
loose  the  destroying  fountain  of  the  raging  deep. 

Accursed  be  the  watcher,  who  after  his  drunken  revelry, 
loosed  the  fountain  of  the  desolating  sea. 

A  cry  from  the  sea  arises  above  the  ramparts ;  t  even  to 
heaven  does  it  ascend, — after  the  fierce  excess  comes  the 
long  cessation ! 

A  cry  from  the  sea  ascends  above  the  ramparts ;  even  to 
heaven  does  the  supplication  come! — after  the  excess  there 
ensues  restraint  I 

A  cry  from  the  sea  awakens  me  this  night! — 

A  cry  from  the  sea  arises  above  the  winds  I 

A  cry  from  the  sea  impels  me  from  my  place  of  rest  this 
night  1 

After  excess  comes  the  far-extending  death." 

As  a  consequence  of  this  great  loss,  Gwyddno  is 

*  Seithenyn  the  Drunkard's  mischance  in  letting  the  sea 
overflow  the  Cantrev-y-Gwaelod  is  related  in  Triad  xli. 

t  Traces  of  three  ancient  stone  embankments  are  said  to  be 
still  visible  in  the  district  where  this  inundation  took  place. 
They  are  called  Sarn  Cynvelyn,  Sarn-y-Bwlch,  and  Sara 
Padrig.  "The  latter  is  particularly  conspicuous,  being  left 
dry  at  low  water  to  the  extent  of  about  nine  miles,  and  the 
sailors  of  the  neighbouring  ports  describe  its  whole  length  to 
be  twenty-one  miles,  beginning  near  Harlech,  and  running  in 
a  south-west  direction"  (Canibro-Briton,  i.  362). 


380  THE  SOUTH  WALES  COAST 

from  a  king  reduced  to  a  fisherman ;  and  it  is  in 
his  weir  at  Borth  that  the  babe  Taliesin  is  found 
by  Elphin.  But  you  must  turn  for  the  full  story  to 
the  Mabinogion  volume  or  to  Peacock's  imagina- 
tive burlesque,  "  The  Misfortunes  of  Elphin." 

Once,  crossing  with  our  bicycles  by  ferry  from 
Aberdovey,  G.  and  I  found  the  tide  far  out,  and 
the  sands  between  the  river  and  Borth  hard  and 
smooth  for  riding.  There  was  a  fair  nor'-west 
wind  blowing,  and  the  sensation  as  we  rode  south 
before  it  was  more  like  flying  than  anything  we 
had  known.  Borth  itself,  we  thought,  had  a  de- 
cided effect  of  being  a  growth  of  the  sand-dunes 
and  the  sea.  We  had  tea  in  an  old  sea-captain's 
cottage  with  sand  at  its  door  and  white  stones 
in  its  garden,  protected  by  wooden  bulwarks  from 
the  too  friendly  sea ;  and  white  ducks  with  sandy 
bills  came  and  quacked  at  the  door.  I  wondered, 
on  hearing  of  the  last  great  December  storm, 
how  this  half -amphibious  abode  of  man  stood  the 
watery  siege?  Its  force  may  be  gathered  from 
the  account  given  of  the  same  sea-fury  at 
Aberystwyth. 

At  the  river  Dovey  the  Welsh  South  Coast-line 
ends.  "  Approaching  the  river  Devi,"  says  Gerald, 
"  that  divides  North  and  South  Wales,  the  Bishop 
of  St.  David's  and  Rhys  son  of  Gruffydd,  who  with 
a  courtesy  peculiarly  gracious  in  so  great  a  prince 
had  travelled  with  us  all  the  way  from  Cardigan 
Castle,  returned  home."  One  can  still  see  that  part- 
ing on  the  long  sands  of  Borth — another  of  the  many 
episodes  that  have  occurred  there  on  their  shift- 
ing beach.  If  Borth  were  ever  in  these  pageant- 
making  days  to  re-enact  its  history  on  those  sands, 
the  leave-taking  of  the  young  prince  and  the 
bishop  on  one  side,  and  the  comely  self-conscious 


LLANBADARN  TO  BOBTH  381 

Gerald    and    Archbishop    Baldwin  on   the  other, 
would  make  a  notable  piece  of  spectacle. 

These  superb  old  wayfarers  have  faded,  we  may 
think,  too  completely  from  our  possible  range  of 
recollection  to  be  held  credibly  actual  to-day.  But 
do  ever  the  eidola  of  the  people  who  have  lived 
and  fared,  or  fought  and  died  on  such  sea-shores 
or  in  the  fields,  quite  perish  out  of  mind  ?  They 
are  dead  to  you  if  you  have  not  the  imagination 
to  overstep  time.  They  are  alive  at  this  moment  if 
you  choose  so  to  quicken  them.  It  is  with  some 
faith  in  the  power  of  the  reader  to  see  this  ancient 
tenantry  of  the  sea-coast  and  its  hamlets,  farms 
and  old  houses,  as  in  a  glass,  that  he  has  been 
led  this  long  dance  from  Gwent  to  the  ferry  over 
the  Dovey.  If  he  do  not,  or  do  not  care  to,  see 
them,  then  the  coast  journey  has  failed  of  half 
its  purpose,  which  is  to  bring  many  far-distant 
places  and  their  folk  into  an  erratic  chronicle : 
another  contribution  to  the  incomplete  testament 
of  Wales — the  Wales  of  the  great  itinerants,  from 
Gerald  to  Dafydd,  from  John  Leland  to  George 
Borrow,  from  Taylor  the  Water  Poet  to  Twm  o'r 
Nant,  last  of  the  Interlude-writers. 


INDEX 


ABERAEBON,  356-361 

Abergavenny,  61 

Aberpergwm,  152 

Aberporth,  350 

Abersili,  86 

Abertawe,  162,  183 

Aberthaw,  97 

Aberystwyth,  363-372 

Adam,  Abbot,  151 

Adrian  IV.,  Pope,  108 

Aeron,  356-361 

Agricola,  49 

"  Allen  Baine,"  353 

Allt  Goch,  350,  351 

Amman,  207,  210,  211 

Amroth,  253 

Angle,  293 

Aquitania,  49 

Arberth,  252 

Ardudwy,  378 

Arnulf  de  Montgomery,  279 

Arthur,  King,  43, 46, 52,  53, 72, 153 

Arthur's  Stone,  194,  195 

Artist's  Valley,  the  (Cwm  Einion), 

376 

Arvon,  378 
Asaph, 172 
Augusel  (Angus),  50 
Aulus  Didius,  65 

BACON  Hole,  192,  193 

Bala,  52 

Baldwin,    Archbishop,   142,  268, 

374,  375,  380,  381 
Ballinger,  Mr.  J.,  6,  368,  369 
Bardsey,  92 

Baring-Gould,  Rev.  8.,  36,  312 
Barlow,  Bishop,  309 
Barri,  Gerald  de,  70 
Barry  Dock,  89,  90 
Barry  Island,  89-93 
Bassaleg,  41 


Bayonne,  63 

Beaufort,  Duke  of,  163 

Beaumains,  Sir,  47 

Beaumont,  Harry,  212 

Beaupre,  118 

Beavan,  Madam  Bridget,  250 

Bedd  Taliesin,  377 

Begelly,  253 

Beili,  77 

Benson's  Cave,  178 

Benton  Castle,  274 

Benwick,  63 

Bere,  Sir  John  de  la,  202 

Berkrols,  Sir  Roger,  76 

Bird,  Dr.  Geo.,  217 

Birkrolles,  Sir  Jasper,  98 

Bishopston,  186, 192 

Blackmore,  R.  D.  (the  novelist), 

128 

Blodeu-wedd,  155 
Bohun,  de,  30 
Berth,  373,  380,  381 
Borrow,  George,  381 
Bosco's  Den,  195 
Bosherton,  286 
Bowen's  Parlour,  195 
Bran,  117 
Brandy  Cove,  192 
Braos,  William  de,  165, 184 
Breaksea  Point,  113 
Breakspear,  Nicholas,  108 
Brean  Down,  63,  83 
Bridgend,  81,  121,  124 
Bridgewater  Bay,  84 
Bristol,  83 

Britolio,  Roger  de,  16 
Broughton  Bay,  206 
Bulmore,  48,  51 
Burnes,  Miss,  243,  244 
Bute,  Marquess  of,  69 
Butler,  Sir  Arnold,  117 
Burry  Holms,  200,  201 


384 


INDEX 


Burry  Inlet,  202,  206,  207 
Burry  Port,  217 

CADBURT,  62 

Gadell,  221 

Cadoc,  50 

Cador,  50 

Cadoxton,  89 

Cadwgan  of  Bleddyn,  279 

Oaerleon,  29,  45 

Caer  Sidi,  180 

Caerwent,  25,  28,  29 

Caesar,  49,  Gaesaria,  47,  50 

Caldeoot,  24,  29,  30 

Caldy  Island,  265,  266,  278 

Camelot,  52 

Candleston,  125 

Cantref-y-Gwaelod,  364,  371,  377- 

380 

Canvey  Island,  54 
Capel  Als,  216 
Capel  Dewi,  209 
Caracalla,  49 
Caractacus,  117 
Caradoc  ap  lestyn,  148,  202 
Cardiff,  63-72 
Cardiff  Castle,  65-70 
Cardigan,  341-349 
Cardigan  Bay,  363 
Carew  Castle,  270-274,  276 
Carmarthen,  224,  226,  228-240 
Carne,  Jane,  117 
Oarne,  Thos.,  109,  121 
Oarn  Engli,  339 
Cam  Llidi,  313 
Carreg  Cennen,  210 
Gastell  Ooch,  71 
Castell  Glas,  55 
Oastell  Prudd,  353 
Oastell-y-Dolig,  353 
Oastle  Martin,  293 
Caswell  Bay,  192 
Cefn  Mabley,  60 
Cefn  Sidan,  212,  218,  220 
Cefn-y-Bryn,  194,  200 
Oeibwr  Bay,  347 
Ceredig,  117 
Charles  I.,  GO,  61 


Chepstow,  13-21 

Christchurch  Hill,  52 

Churchyard,  56 

Cilbwn,  361 

Cilcennen,  360 

Cilgerran,  344-346 

Cilhepste  Falls,  156,  157 

Oil  Ivor,  203 

Cilpwll,  361 

Clares,  The,  19,  134 

Clare,  Sir  Richard  de,  71 

Cleddau,  273 

Clegyr  Foia,  313 

Clyn  Ystyn,  207 

Cobb,  Mr.,269,  278 

Cockletown,  221 

Coed  yr  Odyn,  94 

Coity,  121 

Ooldknap  Point,  53,  93 

Col  Hugh,  106 

Colyn  Dolphyn,  111,  112,  116 

Conan,  142 

Conybeare,  Dean,  86 

Cornelius  Castus,  47 

Cors  Fochno,  377 

Cowbridge,  76,  118-120 

Cox,  David,  85 

Craig-y-Dinas,  52,  152 

Cribach  Bay,  351 

Crick,  28 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  19,  247,  259 

Grymmych  Arms,  341 

Cunotamus,  346 

Owm  Einion,  376 

Cwm  Plysgog,  344 

Gwm  Forth,  157,  158 

Owrt  Bryn  y  Beirdd,  209 

Cwrt-y-Carnau,  209 

Oyrn  Du,  363 

Oywyn,  River,  242 

DAOIA,  49 

Dafydd   ab  Gwilym,  40-44,  371, 

873,  374,  381 
Darva,  Lake,  56 
Davies,  Mr.  J.  H.  Cwrtmawr,  366, 

376 
Davies,  Rev.  Edward,  193 


INDEX 


385 


Davies,  Eev.  J.  D.,  200,  201 

Davis,  Matthew,  166 

Deffett-Franois,  170 

Denys,  74,  78 

Devil's  Bridge,  371 

Derw,  Derwen,  145 

Derw  Fawr,  242 

Dinadau,  47 

Dinas  Head,  336 

Dinas  Lochtyn,  353,  854 

Dinas  Fowls,  74,  77 

Dolwen  Pt.,  249 

Donovan,  52,  136 

Dovey,  Eiver,  373,  381 

Draba  Aizoldes,  189 

Duffryn,  78 

Dunraven,  97,  112,  114,  115-118 

Dwynwen,  166 

Dyvxig,  50 

Dynevor  (Family),  150 

EAST  Gower  Coast,  183-191 

East  Orchard,  118 

Ebwy,  55 

Edward  EL,  148, 168 

Eglwys  Cymmln,  248 

Eifl  Peaks,  863 

Einon,  119 

Elarch,  56 

"Elfed,"214 

Ell,  84 

Ellis,  T.  E.,  M.P.,  366 

Elphin,  379,  880 

Enid,  62, 120 

Eryrl,  378 

Essex,  Earl  of,  285 

Esterlinge,  Sir  William  le,  76 

Estrighoil,  15 

Evans,  Dr.  Gwenogvryn,  367 

Evans,  Stephen,  J.P.,  356 

Ewenny,  76,  121 

Ewer,  Col.,  19 

FENTON,  216,  258 
Ferrar,  Bishop,  233,  309 
Ferryside,  219-237 
Fferyll  (Virgil),  189 
Fiehguard,  331-336 


Fitzhamon,    Bobert,  65,  73,  94, 

107,  148 

Fitzosborn,  William,  16 
Flatholme,  J.,  63,  84,  87, 92 
Flemingston,  118 
Florence  of  Worcester,  26 
Fonmon,  77,  118 
Fontygarry,  96,  97 
Freeman,  E.  A.,  54,  57,  58,  60, 102 
Frost,  John,  89,  42 

GAUL,  49 

Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  48,  49,  67 

Geraint,  Sir,  61 

Gerald  the  Welshman,  48,   142, 

143,   149,  267,    268,  279,   887, 

375,  876,  880,  381 
Geta,  49 

Glamorgan,  64-96 
Glamorgan,  Vale  of,  73-81 
Glandovey,  876 
Glora,  67 

Gloucester,  William  Earl  of,  70 
Glyn  Neath  Station,  151,  152 
Gogerddan,  361,  368 
Golden  Mile,  119 
Goodwiok,  331 
Goodrich,  15 

Gower,  Bishop,  165,  166,  285,  307 
Gower  Coast,  183-205 
Granville,  Richard  de,  148 
Granvilles,  The,  147 
Grassholm,  316,  319 
Grey  (the  poet),  369 
Gray,  Thomas,  131 
Great  Gutter,  113 
Green  Bridge,  249 
Green  Castle,  55,  241 
Griffith  ab  Ivor,  71 
Griffith  ap  Rhys,  224,  225 
Griffith,  Knight    of  the    North, 

87,88 

Griffith,  Rev.  J.,  60 
Gruffydd  ab  Llewelyn,  28 
Grufiyd  ab  Rhytherch,  26 
Gull  Rock,  181 
Gwbert,  347 
Gwendraeth,  218,  219 


25 


386 


INDEX 


Gwenevere,  60, 64 
Gwenffrwd,  860 
Gwent,  24, 69,  60 
Gwern-y-Oleppa,  41 
Gwyddno  Garanhir,  378,  879 
Gwynllewg  Level,  48 
Gwynllyw,  87,  88 
Gynin,  Biver,  242 

HAMILTON,  Lady,  226 
Hamilton,  Sir  William,  298 
Harlech,  879 
Haverfordwest,  302 
Hen  Geraint  Woods.^357 
Henry  II.,  35,  246 
Henry  VII.,  106 
Henry  of  Knighton,  147 
Hepste,  156, 157 
Herberde,  Edward,  282 
Herbert,  Sir  George,  197 
Herford,  Prof.  0.  H.,  366 
Hirwain,  157,  166 
Hoby,  Family,  149 
Hogarth,  39 
Howell,  J.  M.,  361 
Hoyle'a  Mouth,  259,  263 
Hubberston,  299 
Huntsman's  Leap,  291 

JBNKINS,  Sir  Leoline,  118 

Jones,  Dr.  John,  257 

Jones,  Eev.  Griffith,  250,  251 

Jones,  Col.  Philip,  166 

John,  King,  184 

Johnes,  Thomas  ;  Havod,  371 

Johnstown,  241 

Julia  Iverna,  47 

Julius  Frontinus,  16 

Julius  the  Martyr,  49 

KEAN,  Edmund,  226 
Kemeys,  Sir  Nioh.,  19,  60 
Kemeys-Tynte,  Col.,  60 
Kenfig,  129-139 
Keynsham  Abbey,  57 
Kidwelly,  170,  217,  218,  224 
Kilgetty,  253 
Kingsley,  Chas.,  181 


Knight,  Eev.  Hey,  127 
Knight,  John,  71,  90,  91 
Knighton,  Henry  of,  147 

LALEB,  148 

Lampeter,  857 

Lamphey  Palace,  284 

Landore,  162 

Landor,  Walter  Savage,  161,  172, 

178,  174,  264 
Lanrhymney,  57,  59 
Laques,  225 
Laugharne,  244-248 
Launcelot,  Sir,  47, 64 
Lavernoek,  84,  85,  86,  89 
Laws,  Edward,  260,  312,  380 
Lee,  Vernon,  56 
Leland,  John,  34,  202,  219,  279, 

281 

Ler,  56 

Lewis  Morganwg,  150 
Linney  Head,  292 
Llanaeron,  360 
Llanbad,  55 
Llanbadarn,  373-376 
Llanblethian,  118 
Llanboidy,  245 
Llanborth,  354 
Llancaut,  16 
Llancarvan,  77 
Llanddewi,  195 
Llanddewi  Brefi,  362,  376 
Llandefeilog,  221 
Llandeilo  Aberoowyn,  242 
Llandeilo  Bertholey,  58 
Llandeilo  Verwalt,  193 
Llandysilio-go-go,  855,  356 
Llanelly,  214-217 
Llaneroh,  357 
Llanfair,  24 

Llanfihangel  Abercowyn,  242 
Llanfihangel(Card.),  357 
Llangattock,  50 
Llangeitho,  361,  362 
Llangennydd,  200 
Llangorse  Lake,  134 
Llangraunog,  351-354 
Llangunnor,  236,  239 


INDEX 


387 


Llangyndeym,  224 

Llanina,  354 

Llanllwoh,  241 

Llanmadoo,  200,  201 

Llanmorlais,  203 

Llanrhidian,  203 

Llanrian,  329 

Llanstephan,  219-227 

Llantarnam,  54 

Llantwit  Major,  92, 100 

Llantrisant,  148, 181 

Llanwnda,  331 

Llanybri,  225 

Llewelyn  ab  lorweth,  148,  165 

Lleyn,  349 

Lloyd,  Miss  (of  Oilbwn),  361 

Lloyds,  the  (Laques),225,226 

Lloyds,  the  (Pare  Rhydderch),  361 

Llychwr,  203,  206-213 

Llyfnant  Valley,  376 

Llyn  I  wan,  371 

Llyn  Rheidol,  371 

Llyn  Safaddan,  134 

Llyn-y-Fan-Fach,  207 

Llyn-y-Fan-Fawr,  162 

Llywaroh  ab  Llewelyn,  165 

Loohtyn,  353 

Lookyer,  Sir  Norman,  330 

Londres,  Maurice  de,  120,  124 

Londres,  Wm.  de,  117 

Longbury  Bank  Gave,  259,  263 

Lot,  King,  46 

Lucius,  46 

Lud,  14 

Lydgate,  52 

Lydney,  14 

Lydstep,  Point  and  Oaves,  263 

MABEL,  FITZHAMON,  35,  60 
Mach  Ynys,  216 
Madawc,  14 
Maelgwn,  377 
Maenhir,  202 
Maesaleg,  41,  42 
Mallt-y-Nos,  111 
Malory,  Sir  Thomas,  63 
Manawyddan,  144 
Manorbier,  267,  270 


Mansels,  140,  142, 196 
Map,  Walter,  67 
Marcross,  81 
Margam,  140,  146 
Marisco,  William  de,  176-178 
Mark,  King,  47 
Marlpes,  299 

Martin,  Henry,  13,  18,  19 
Mat,  Iron  Hand,  116 
Matchless  Orlnda,  the,  844 
Mathern,  24,  32 
Mathews,  Hobson,  91 
Mathry,  829 
Maud  de  Haia,  170 
Mellte,  151 
Merlin,  46,  232 
Merrick,  Bice,  64,  71,  73,  94 
Mersea  Island,  54 
Merthyr  Mawr,  125 
M^ryon,  85 
Mendalgyf,  55 
Meyrick,  362 
Milford,  273,    76,  297 
Milford  Haven,    97 
Michaelston,  54 
Minchin  Hole,  194 
Moel  Trigarn,  341 
Monkham  Pill,  277 
Monknash,  113 
Monkton  Priory,  281 
Mordred,  64 
Morfudd,  42,  373 
Morgan,  67,  60,  124,  145 
Morgan  ap  Garadog,  149 
Morgan  le  Fay,  74,  184,  195 
Morgan  Gam,  148 
Morgan,  Sir  Philip,  61 
Morganwg,  63-146 
Morganwg,  lolo,  133 
Morris,  Lewis,  284,  376 
Morva  Bychan,  249 
Mowbrays,  De,  166 
Moyne's  Court,  24 
Mumbles,  the,  175, 186 

NANGLE,  276 
Nant  Cwnlle,  362 
Nanteos,  371 


388 


INDEX 


Narberth,252' 
Nash,  109 
Nash  Point,  112 
Neath,  147-160 
Nedern,  26 
Nesta,  267,  280 
Nevern,  338 
Newbridge,  360 
Newcastle  Emlyn,  353 
Newgale  Bridge,  302 
Newport,  33-44,  58 
Newport,  337 
Newquay,  354 
Newton  Nottage,  125-129 
Normandy,  William  of,  39 
Nose,  the ;  Pembrey,  211 
Nott,  General,  232 

ODNANT,  105 

Offa's  Dyke,  20 

Ogmore,  117, 124,  125 

Ogney,  101, 102,  105 

Ogwr,  121,  122 

Oldbury,  31 

Orthez,  59 

Ostorius,  65 

Owain  Glyndwr,  361,  366 

Owain  Gwynedd,  232 

Owain  Lawgooh,  154 

Owen,  George,  295,  298,  317 

Oxwich  Oastle,  196 

Oystermouth,  183,  184 

PABIS,  MATTHEW,  176 
Park  Mill,  188, 190 
Paviland,  168 

Peacock,  Thomas  Love,  379 
Pembrey,  212 
Pembroke,  276 
Pembroke  Oastle,  276-281 
Pembroke  Dock,  284 
Pembroke,  Earls  of,  166,  246 
Penarth,  63,  66,  82,  85 
Penbryn,  351 
Penclawdd,  204 
Pen  Dar,  145 
Pendine,  248,  249 
Pejxlline,  118, 119 


Penmaen,  194 

Penmark,  118 

Pennard,  186,  193 

Penrhyn  Castle  Bay,  347 

Penrice,  199 

Pensarn,  232 

Pen-y-Dinas,  375 

Percival,  Percy,  6,  300,  301 

Perddyn,  159 

Pergrin,  348 

Perrot,  Sir  John,  246,  271,  283 

Peterstone,  55,  56 

Phaer,  Dr.,  345,  346 

Picton  Castle,  273 

Picton,  General,  107 

Plinlimmon,  358,  368,  371 

Pont  Neath  Vaughan,  150,  152 

Pontvaen,  336 

Popham,  Attorney  Gen.,  247 

Poppit,  the,  347 

Port  Eynon,  196 

Port  Skewett,  26 

Port  Talbot,  185,  209 

Porthcawl,  127,  128,  185 

Porth  Olais,  311,  316 

Porthkerry,  63,  93,  94 

Porth  Lisky,  311 

Porth  Melgaw,  312 

Porth-yr-Ogof,  158 

Poyer,  Col.,  252,  281 

Precelly  Mountain,  277,  339 

Pritchard,  John,  141 

Pritohard,  T.  J.  Llewelyn,  170, 

371 

Pwllorochan,  277 
Pwll  Meyriok,  24 

QUANTOCKS,  the,  84 

RAMSEY  ISLAND,  311,  316 
Rat  Island,  180 
Red  Roses,  251 
Rees,  Rev.  David,  216 
Rees,  Roger,  275 
Eeynoldstone,  200 
Rheidol,  271 
Rhianon,  56,  252 
Rhoose,  94,  97 


INDEX 


Ehos,  377 

Rhosilly,  200 

Ehyd-y-Gors,  241 

Bhymney,  54,  56 

Rhys,  119 

Rhys  ap  Griffith,  165,  233,  345, 

380 

Rhys  ap  Tewdur,  280 
Rhys  ap  Thomas,  Sir,  235,  271 
Rhys  leuanc,  202,  212 
Rhys,  Sir  John,  180,  265,  271,  345, 

352 

Risca,  54 
Riteo,  263 

Robert,  Duke,  65,  66,  67 
Robert,  Earl  of  Gloucester,  67 
Roche  Castle,  302 
Rogut,  38 

Rowlands,  Daniel,  362 
Rupe,  Adam  de,  302 
Ruperra,  60, 61 
Russell,  Lord  John,  40 

ST.  AARON,  50 

St.  Augustine,  84 

St.  Baruch's,  92 

St.  Briavel,  15 

St.  Bride's,  55 

St.  Bride's  Bay,  310 

St.  Bride's  Major,  125 

St.  Oaernhoc,  57 

St.  dear's,  243 

St.  Cringat,  250 

St.  David's,  276-286 

St.  Donat's,  107,  111,  112,  118 

St.  Elli,  214,  216 

St.  Pagan's,  77 

St.  Fronto,  36 

St.  Gildas,  265 

St.  Govan's,  287,  308 

St.  GwynUyw,  33 

St.  Illtyd,  123 

St.  Ishmael,  219,  223 

St.  Julian's,  45 

St.  Keri,  63,  95 

St.  Kynemark,  20 

St.  Maelog,  222 

St.  Mellon's,  57,  58 


St.  Padarn,  374 

St.  Pierre,  25 

St.  Quintin,  118 

St.  Tecla's,  21 

St.  Teilo,  193 

St.  Tysilio,  355 

St.  Woollos's,  35,  37,  38,  58 

Sampson,  101,  103,  265,  374 

Samuel,  101 

Sarn  Padrig,  374 

Sater,  50 

Saundersfoot,  253 

Scwd  Einion  Gam,  159 

Scwd  Gwladys,  159 

Sedbury,  31 

Seife,  57 

Seithenen,  379 

Severn,  Sea  of,  23,  54 

Severn  Tunnel,  27 

Severus,  46 

Shutter  Rock,  179 

Sili,  Nant,  87 

Sirhowy,  59 

Sker  Rock,  127 

Skomar  Island,  300 

Slebech,  273 

Sloane,  Sir  Hans,  167 

Smith,  Blethyn,  32 

Solva,  304-305 

Somerset,  63 

Sore,  Sir  Peter  le,  42 

Bouthall,  Mr.,  59 

Southerndown,  115,  116 

Spencer,  de,  35 

Spurrell,    Mr.    Walter,    J.P.,   6, 

344 

Stackpool,  293 
Stack  Rocks,  254,  276,  222 
Steele,  Betty,  232 
Steele,  Lady,  238 
Steele,  Sir  Richard,  236 
Steepholme,  72 
Storrie,  John,  93 
Stow  Hill,  35 
Stradlings,  the,  107 
Stradling,  Sir  Harry,  112 
Strata  Florida,  364,  371 
Strath  Towy,  231 


390 


INDEX 


Strongbow,  Richard,  16 
Strongbow,  Gilbert,  345 
Sudbrooke  Camp,  31 
Sully,  77 
Swanbridge,  86 
Swansea,  161-174 
Swansea  Bay,  161 
Sweyn,  105, 162 
Sychnant,  154 

TACITUS,  48 

Taf,  219,  244 

Taff,  54,  64,  65,  72 

Talbots,  140 

Taliesin,  377,  378 

Talsarn  Mountain,  359 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  19 

Taylor,  "  Water  Poet,"  233,  240 

Teivy,  344,  348 

Tenby,  254-266 

Tennyson,  51 

Tewdric,  5,  24 

Thaw,  118 

Thomas,  T.  H.,  6,  83,  818,  347 

Thompson,  Pyke,  84 

Tintern  Abbey,  20-22 

Tostig,  26. 

Towy,  218,  225,  228,  244 

Towyn  Point,  218 

Towyn  Warren,  347 

Traeth  Maelgwn,  377 

Traethsaith,  351 

Tredegar,  Lord,  42 

Tresilian,  106 

Trevaen,  330 

Trevelyan,  Marie,  Miss,  79 

Trichrug,  360 

Tristan,  184 

Troggy,  26 

Trwyn-y- witch,  115 

Turbervilles,  120,  121 

Turberville,  Pain,  76,  117,  124 

Turberville,  Sir  Simon  de,  123 

Tusker  Book,  113,  115,  127 

Twm  o'r  Nant,  381 

Twm  Shon  Catti,  170,  371 

Twrch  Trwyth,  207,  210 

Twt  Hill,  15 


Tydur,  856 
Tylwyth  Teg,  188 
Tyrwhit,  108 

UPHILL  BAY,  63 

Upton,  274 

Urien,  50 

Usher,  Archbishop,  108 

Usk,  24,  25,  33,  35,  37,  45,  54 

VALH  of  Alun,  313 
Vaughan,  Henry,  344 
Vaughan,  Eobert,  367 
Vaughan,  Sir  Eiohard,  115 
Vespasian,  48 

WARLBY  POINT,  220 
Warren,  293 
Watcyn  Wyn,  214 
Waterwynch  Bay,  262 
Watkin,  John,  198 
Wentloog,  88,  48,  54,  56 
Wentwood,  24,  25,  30 
Wenvoe,  77 
Weobley,  201 
West  Orchard,  118 
Whitesand  Bay,  311 
Whiteford  Barrows,  202 
Whiteford  Lighthouse,  200 
Whitland,  261,  287 
Whitmore  Bay,  93 
Williams,  Penry,  85 
Williams,  Sir  John,  326,  366 
Windsor,  Gerald  de,  267,  272, 279, 

280 

Woolpack,  299 
Worm's  Head,  195 
Wye,  13 

Wyndham,  Humphrey,  117 
Wynne,  Mr.  W.  R.  M.,  366 

YELLOW  Top,  196 

Ynys  Lochtyn,  351,  353 

Ynys  Pyr,  265 

Ystrad  Iwl,  14 

Ystradfellte,  152 

Ystrad  Meurig,  369 

Ystrad  Tywi  (Strath  Towy),  231 


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Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-25m-8,'46(9852)444 


BRARY 
I I  'ORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The 


•' 


A     000  995  478     5 


County  y^         Cotyt 


DA 
730 

R34s 


